OF     1 
A/ 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


BEQUEST  OF 
YNEZ  GHIRARDELLI 


PARISIAN    SIGHTS 


AND 


FRENCH    PRINCIPLES, 


SEEN     T II 11  O  U  G  H 


AMERICAN    SPECTACLES. 


JAMES   JACKSON   JARVES, 
u 


SECOND    SERIES. 


NEW    YORK: 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

PEARL  STREET,  FRANKLIN  SQUARE. 

1855. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  one  thou 
sand  eight  hundred  and  fifty-five,  by 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


-DC  733 


PREFACE, 


"  Simul  et  jucunda  et  idonea  dicere  vitse." 

OF  volume  first,  a  reviewer  kindly  said,  "It  is  not  half 
long  enough,  and  we  hope  the  author,  in  due  time,  will 
give  us  more  of  the  same  sort."  Having  laid  this  flatter 
ing  unction  to  my — pen,  for  further  particulars,  discrimi 
nating  critic,  inquire  WITHIN.  We  would  add,  however, 
that  a  number  of  the  chapters  have  already  appeared  at 
various  intervals  in  Harper's  Magazine,  while  all  were 
written  some  years  back. 


823 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS 

AND 

FRENCH    PRINCIPLES, 


CHAPTER  I. 

FRENCH    ARISTOCRACY    VS.  AMERICAN    DEMOCRACY. 

ALL  men  are  born  free  and  equal,  says  the  American  Con* 
stitution.  All  men  are  born  in  the  bondage  of  sin,  says  high 
er  and  truer  authority.  From  that  bondage  spring  those  in 
equalities  of  life,  which  no  axiom  of  politics  can  make  level, 
or  theory  of  philosophy  make  straight.  It  is  useless  to  deny 
this  truth.  Nature  proclaims  it  in  every  form,  animate  and 
inanimate.  What  contrast  can  be  greater  than  between  the 
humble  but  useful  carbon  and  the  brilliant  and  imperishable 
diamond  !  Yet  both  are  of  the  same  material.  Every  flow 
er,  shrub,  and  tree  differs  from  its  neighbor,  each  betraying 
some  peculiar  excellence,  or  the  effects  of  disease  or  decay, 
the  sad  heritage  of  man's  fall  from  freedom  arid  equality. 
The  brute  kingdom  alike  shares  man's  destiny.  Some  ani 
mals  there  are  born  to  beauty,  health,  and  vigor ;  others  to 
homeliness,  infirmity,  and  suffering.  The  sole  equality  to 
man  or  beast  is  in  the  provision  provided  for  entering  or  leav 
ing  this  world,  and  the  sole  inheritage  'of  indeprivable  free 
dom  is  in  the  common  air  all  breathe,  and  the  mother  earth 

A  2 


10  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

on  which  all  tread  while  living,  and  repose  in  when  dead. 
Whatever  may  have  been  the  condition  of  our  race  previous 
to  Eve's  unwise  curiosity,  it  has  since  become  one  of  kalei- 
idoscopic  inequality,  with  joy  for  the  few  and  sorrow  for  the 
'many.  The  last  owe  her  boundless  gratitude  that  she  stop- 
,ped  half  way,  arid  did  not  complete  her  sin  by  eating  of  the 
tree  of  life  and  compelling  her  descendants  to  live  forever. 
In  leaving  the  boon  of  death  to  humanity,  we  are  in  duty 
bound  to  forgive  the  fatal  gift  of  knowledge.  Yet,  while  hu 
manity  retains  its  corruptibility,  this  very  inequality  of  natu 
ral  and  acquired  condition  constitutes  the  basis  of  progress 
and  happiness.  We  could  no  more  endure  a  dead  level  of 
comfort  or  pleasure  than  universal  and  equalized  misery. 
"Without  contrasts  and  variety,  life  would  lose  its  compensa 
tions.  Consolation  and  stimulus  both  spring  from  diversities 
of  fortune,  and  if  there  were  no  sorrow  of  mind,  no  pain  of 
body,  we  should  remain  unacquainted  with  hope,  and  strangers 
to  the  gayety  of  health.  Even  heaven  itself,  the  proffered  cli 
max  of  spiritual  blessings,  tho  eternal  sea  of  joy  and  rest, 
destined  to  wash  out  all  stains  of  earth,  comes  to  us  as  a  heav 
en  of  ranks,  and  powers,  and  diversities  of  every  grade  of  glo 
ry  and  condition.  We  have  the  throng  of  the  redeemed — the 
blood-washed  and  white-clad  democracy  of  humanity,  shout 
ing  hosannas  at  the  foot  of  the  throne,  while  angels  and  arch 
angels,  cherubim  and  seraphim,  of  every  degree  of  power  and 
eloquence,  form  the  gradation  of  heaven's  aristocracy,  unit 
ing  in  one  harmonious  choir  of  praise  the  souls  of  just  men 
made  perfect  with  those  spirits  who  have  had  through  eterni 
ty  their  home  in  Paradise.  The  title  of  the  heavenly  Ruler  is 
"Father" — his  law,  "  love" — and  his  regent  is  called  "  Lamb." 
Contrast  this  with  the  "imperial  majesty" — the  bulls,  ukases, 
codes,  bayonets,  and  executioners  of  earthly  potentates,  and 
credit  the  difference  to  the  account  of  that  spirit  to  whoso 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


envy  and  ambition  even  the  happiness  of  heaven  proved  no 
antidote. 

Stop  !  It  is  of  earth  only  that  I  would  treat.  The  topic 
that  gave  rise  to  the  above  exordium  is  aristocracy — Ameri 
can  aristocracy — republicanized,  democratized  aristocracy.  Jn 
this  land  of  the  "people"  the  word  aristocracy  is  in  every 
mouth,  sometimes  in  tones  of  envy,  rarely  of  hate,  but  al 
ways  of  interest.  What  is  this  subtle  something,  that  every 
one  sees,  yet  none  can  define  —  this  always  sought,  yet  al 
ways  vilified  distinction  —  ever  pursued  and  never  grasped? 
Like  an  ignis  fatuus,  it  dances  its  mocking  light  over  the 
length  and  breadth  of  our  land,  oftenest  seen  and  chased  in 
the  morasses  of  ignorance  and  prejudice,  equally  admired  and 
abused,  and  not  a  little  girt  around  by  a  superstitious  dread, 
as  natural  as  that  entertained  for  its  prototype,  which  many 
consider  to  be  nothing  less  than  a  wandering  spirit  burning 
blue  with  anguish. 

A  democrat  is  a  common  noun  ;  as  easily  understood  in  its 
length  and  breadth,  depth  and  height,  solid  contents  and  su 
perficial  area,  as  any  other  son  of  a  woman.  He  is  one  of  the 
people.  He  believes  in  himself,  and  rightly,  as  a  ruler,  and  a 
maker  of  rulers  —  as  one  of  God's  anointed.  He  extends  his 
faith  to  every  man  not  a  "nigger."  His  freedom  and  equal 
ity  consist  in  shaking  up  in  the  big  sieve  of  politics  blue  spir 
its,  white  and  gray.  The  adroit  and  able  rise  to  the  top  and 
rule ;  the  indifferent  or  weak  sink  to  the  bottom  and  are 
ruled.  All  have  their  turn,  and  democracy  rejoices  in  health 
ful  fruit  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  its  Made-spreading 
domain.  Now,  as  each  citizen  of  these  United  States  is  one 
of  the  people,  and  as  the  people  rule  themselves  theoretically 
and  practically,  whence  are  our  aristocrats  ?  If  we  have  such 
a  class,  they  must  have  sprung  from  democrats — the  decayed 
fruit  of  a  healthful  stock. 


12  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


But  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  put  one's  finger  on  an  aristocrat 
in  this  country — at  least,  such  is  my  experience.  I  have  sought 
diligently  so  to  do,  but  the  nimble  flea  disappears  not  more 
rapidly  than  does  one  of  this  class  when  you  think  you  have 
him.  There  is  no  difficulty  in  defining  an  aristocrat  cast  in 
the  olden  Grecian  or  Roman  mould.  The  lords  of  Athens 
could  never  have  been  confounded  with  their  white  slaves. 
To  be  a  citizen  of  Minerva's  city  was  to  be  a  nobleman,  an 
aristocrat  by  birth  and  profession,  as  all  men  are  bom  dem 
ocrats  with  us.  Lycurgus  divided  his  community  into  two 
classes  :  the  helots  or  workers,  the  democracy  of  Lacedsemon ; 
and  the  citizens  or  fighters,  to  whom  were  reserved  all  honors 
and  emoluments.  The  lordly  patricians  of  republican  Rome 
farmed  out  the  world  for  their  individual  profit,  while  the 
plebeian  multitude  alternately  fought  for  and  were  fed  by 
them.  There  is  no  mistaking  the  class  that  produced  an  Al- 
cibiades,  Pericles,  Tarquin,  Crassus,  or  Sylla  for  the  common 
clay  of  their  epochs.  They  stood  out  from  the  mass  in  as 
distinct  relief  in  power,  wealth,  intellect,  lust,  and  ambition, 
as  did  Milton's  Satan  from  the  hosts  of  hell.  They  were  aris 
tocrats,  conspicuous  in  talent,  energy,  or  crime.  Men  who 
could  sup  like  Lucullus,  feed  their  lampreys  on  human  flesh, 
drink  dissolved  pearls,  or,  like  Bestia,  find  amusement  in  stran 
gling  wives  while  asleep,  buy  an  empire  or  slaughter  their  fel 
low-citizens  by  scores  to  make  a  Roman  holiday,  would  find 
small  compensation  for  the  deprivation  of  their  privileges  in 
the  law-respecting  and  God-fearing  lives  of  our  aristocratic 
John  Smiths  and  Richard  Does.  The  ruder  recreations  of 
their  craft  in  the  Middle  Ages,  butchering  and  plundering  trav 
elers — when  not  occupied  in  wassail,  or  breaking  each  other's 
heads — would  be  too  vulgar  for  the  later  Roman,  accustomed 
to  Asiatic  luxury  and  Sybaritic  indulgence ;  while  even  he, 
perhaps,  would  have  scorned  the  effeminacy  of  the  French  no- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  13 

blesse  of  Louis  XV.,  who,  when  visiting  their  country  estates, 
kept  the  democracy  up  all  night  beating  the  neighboring  ponds 
to  prevent  the  croaking  of  frogs  from  disturbing  their  slumbers. 

In  using  the  words  democrat  and  aristocrat,  I  employ  them 
rather  in  their  social  than  political  signification.  Aristocracy, 
as  a  form  of  government,  is  as  obsolete  in  the  United  States 
as  is  true  Christianity  at  Rome  or  democracy  in  Russia.  In 
deed,  there  is  hope  for  the  revival  of  the  people's  reign  and 
religion  in  these  countries,  but  none  whatever  for  the  hered 
itary  rule  of  the  favored  few  in  -America.  Aristocracy,  as  a 
political  system,  is  there  more  securely  buried  under  the  weight 
of  state  constitutions  and  popular  intelligence,  than  if  it  had 
all  Egypt's  pyramids  on  its  body,  or  the  guillotine  of  1793  to 
"  off  with  its  head."  If  it  exist  at  all,  it  is  in  an  intangible, 
fluctuating  social  shape,  better  denned  as  a  sliding  scale  of 
gentility,  without  boundaries  of  caste,  and  only  to  be  detected 
in  the  seeker's  imagination  by  its  greater  or  less  distance  from 
his,  or,  more  commonly,  her — as  females  oftenest  sit  in  judg 
ment  on  this  tribunal — standard  of  domestic  life. 

Yet  how  often  and  how  strangely  do  we  hear  this  much- 
abused  word  used !  In  politics  it  is  made  a  local  war-cry,  stim 
ulating  prejudice  and  ignorance  against  property  and  refine 
ment,  creating  phantoms  of  inequality  where  none  exist  save 
those  created  and  blessed  by  God  himself — -the  successful  is 
sues  of  probity,  intelligence,  or  enterprise,  the  very  rewards 
free  to  all  who  labor  in  earnest,  and  for  which  none  other  land 
but  this  proffers  a  clear  field.  Every  party  must,  however, 
parade  its  Guy  Fawkes,  and  exercise  its  lungs  in  shouting 
stratagems  and  treasons.  Like  gunpowder  in  salutes,  it  serves 
to  make  a  temporary  noise  and  smoke,  but  the  atmosphere  soon 
clears,  and  leaves  the  prospect  as  bright  as  ever. 

In  Russia  and  England  of  this  century  we  see  represent 
ed  the  two  phases  of  aristocracy  as  modified  by  Christianity. 


14  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

which  have  respectively  descended  from  Rome  arid  Athens. 
In  Russia,  serfage  in  its  lowest  and  most  laborious  forms,  sep 
arated  by  the  impassable  gulfs  of  work  and  non-work,  form  no 
bility.  Here  the  mass,  under  stripes  and  abuse,  transmute  the 
sweat  of  their  brows  into  gold,  that  the  few  may  bask  in  the 
sunshine  of  lordly  magnificence.  Bom  to  masters,  they  know 
no  higher  destiny,  and  repay  in  servility  and  hypocrisy  the 
tyranny  and  selfishness  of  their  owners.  It  is  aristocracy  in 
its  simplest,  rudest,  grandest  form,  alternately  dazzling  and  dis 
gusting  in  its  extremes,  because  it  knows  no  medium. 

In  Great  Britain  it  is  no  less  a  portion  of  the  state,  and  in 
corporated  with  the  religion  of  the  land.  England's  rule  is 
aristocratic,  but  it  is  the  best  development  of  aristocracy  of 
which  human  nature  is  capable.  Extremes  of  social  position 
as  great  as  those  of  Russia  are  to  be  found  in  England,  but 
education  and  intelligence  have  fixed  limits  to  power.  The 
same  system  which  has  developed  liberty  in  England  and  given 
birth  to  democracy  in  America,  has  produced  a  race  of  high- 
minded,  large-hearted  men  and  statesmen,  strong  in  integrity 
and  patriotism,  and  gifted  with  more  than  Grecian  eloquence 
and  learning.  England  has  given  birth  to  aristocrats  of  whom 
humanity  has  reason  to  be  proud — aristocrats  by  education  and 
personal  interest,  but  men  from  the  higher  motives  of  religion 
and  humanity.  However  much  we  are  compelled  to  admire 
the  results  of  rank,  wealth,  refinement,  and  education  concen 
trated  upon  a  few,  like  the  diamond  polished  by  its  own  dust, 
yet  the  system  that  perpetuates  and  makes  hereditary  these 
distinctions  is  none  the  less  to  be  deplored.  The  government 
is  best  which,  like  that  of  the  United  States,  or,  more  proper 
ly,  of  those  states  in  which  slavery  is  excluded,  leaves  human 
enterprise  untrammeled  by  invidious  privileges  and  uncor- 
rupted  by  inalienable  luxury.  All  that  any  government  can 
do  is  to  make  equal  laws,  and  thus  render  all  men  equal  in 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  15 

rights,  and  leave  them  free  under  those  laws  to  attain  such 
public  and  social  distinctions  as  nature  and  education  qualify 
them  for.  This  is  the  case  in  this  country,  and  it  is  all  its 
Constitution  means  to  assert  or  confirm  when  it  says  all  men 
are  born  free  arid  equal.  Thence  it  follows  that  aristocracy 
among  us  as  a  system  has  no  more  soil  for  growth  than  had 
the  seed  sown  upon  the  rock.  The  sun  of  democracy  withers 
it  in  its  incipient  budding. 

What,  then,  is  this  aristocracy,  that  is  in  every  young  miss's 
mouth  and  in  most  older  heads  ?  I  hear  of  it  alike  in  the 
country  and  the  city  ;  at  the  mechanic's  bench  and  the  mer 
chant's  desk  ;  in  the  retreat  of  learning  and  the  focus  of  fash 
ion.  All  claim  it  in  their  hearts  and  repudiate  it  with  their 
tongues  Each  enviously  attributes  it  to  a  neighbor,  and 
shrinks  from  it  himself  as  a  plague-spot ;  yet  it  is  evident  all 
consider  it,  like  faith  in  religion,  the  great  and  desired  social 
good,  but  valuable  in  proportion  to  its  scarcity.  Whence  this 
weakness  and  inconsistency,  for  such  it  would  at  first  seem  1 
It  is  as  much  an  element  of  our  social  fabric  as  is  universal 
suffrage  of  our  political,  and,  chameleon-like  as  it  may  appear, 
foolish  as  it  may  at  times  display  itself,  it  is  at  the  bottom  a 
civilizing  and  refining  ingredient.  The  inconsistency  of  si 
multaneous  desire  and  repudiation  results  from  a  necessary 
weakness  of  democratic  character.  The  individual  grows  up 
in  subservience  to  the  mass.  Its  opinions  and  prejudices  are 
alternately  his  law  and  his  bugbear.  He  loses  sight  of  the 
important  fact  that,  because  he  has  yielded  his  political  guid 
ance  to  the  care  of  the  community,  it  does  not  follow  that  his 
social  independence  is  lost  also.  The  political  warning  cry 
of  aristocracy  rings  frightfully  in  his  ears,  yet  his  heart 
yearns  after  what  he  believes  to  be  its  flesh-pots.  The  Amer 
ican  citizen  is  too  recent  a  creature  to  be  wholly  freed  from 
the  infirmities  and  vices  of  the  political  systems  of  the  Old 


16  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


"World  from  which  he  sprung,  yet  he  is  rapidly  casting  his 
slough.  This  very  feeling  and  desire  in  regard  to  aristocracy 
I  quote  in  evidence  of  the  truth  of  my  remark.  In  one  class 
of  society,  or  more  properly  coterie,  I  am  told  such  a  person 
who  moves  in  another  is  considered  aristocratic.  Elsewhere 
I  hear  the  same  asserted  of  my  last  informant,  and  so  on 
through  every  gradation  in  the  social  ladder.  No  one  points 
out  a  class  as  aristocratic  ,  it  is  only  the  individual,  and  he 
only  is  aristocratic  as  he  differs  in  his  style  of  living  or  per 
sonal  manners  from  his  neighbor.  Thus  aristocracy  in  the 
United  States  resolves  itself  simply  into  this  fact :  A,  as  a 
laborer,  mechanic,  merchant,  or  professional  man,  has  made 
more  money  than  B,  and  consequently  spends  more,  lives  bet 
ter,  receives  more  of  the  perquisites  of  cash ;  hence,  in  the 
standard  of  B's  household,  A's  is  aristocratic.  C  has  been 
better  educated,  more  well-bred,  has  traveled,  and  in  other 
ways  more  improved  his  mind  and  manners  than  D,  whose 
opportunities  have  been  fewer.  C  thus  becomes  an  aristo 
crat  to  D,  in  the  proportion  of  his  greater  refinement.  E  is 
more  learned  and  aristocratic  than  F,  and  so  on  these  changes 
could  be  rung  through  the  whole  social  chime.  There  is 
nothing  distinctive,  invidious,  or  hereditary  in  this.  It  is 
the  legitimate  offspring  of  democracy,  and,  as  such,  should  be 
cherished  as  the  true  refiner  of  society.  Talent,  wealth,  and 
worth,  none  of  which  can  be  created  and  kept  without  labor, 
become  thus  the  orders,  the  Stars  and  Garters,  the  Holy  Fleece 
and  Golden  Crosses  of  American  society.  They  constitute 
the  only  true  Legion  of  Honor,  the  true  insignia  of  which  are 
known  and  worn  in  the  hearts  of  the  people. 

The  craving  for  this  aristocracy  should  be  cherished  as  a 
powerful  auxiliary  in  refining  and  polishing  society.  Individ 
uals  should  discard  the  false  meaning  attached  to  the  word 
in  the  United  States,  and  if,  in  their  heads  as  it  really  does, 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  17 

the  word  aristocracy  implies  but  a  superior  standard  of  man 
ners,  education,  or  position  to  their  own,  strive  for  it ;  not 
with  the  feeling  that  Hamari  viewed  Mordecai,  but  with  the 
consciousness  of  self-respect  and  desire  of  improvement,  the 
birthright  of  every  American,  which,  if  properly  sustained, 
makes  him  at  once  a  fit  companion  for  princes,  arid  a  bright 
and  shining  example  of  the  virtue  of  democratic  institutions 
in  forming  a  man.  Such  is  the  character  of  the  only  inter 
vention  in  the  affairs  of  their  fellow-men  worthy  of  the  genius 
of  American  citizens. 

This  definition  of  aristocracy  will  not  accord  with  the  views 
of  those  who  fancy  that  greatness  and  goodness  in  one  gen 
eration  continues  greatness  and  goodness  in  the  next,  irre 
spective  of  individual  worth  or  ability.  It  is  true  that  repu 
tation,  like  sin,  is  visited  upon  the  third  and  fourth  generation, 
while  the  only  fame  or  consideration  worth  possessing  goes 
not  beyond  its  legitimate  founder.  Besides,  the  deeds  which 
in  the  Middle  Ages  originated  many  a  noble  family,  would  in 
this  have  consigned  the  doers  to  state  penitentiaries.  In  but 
few  instances  does  it  repay  a  rightly-constructed  mind  to  root 
up  the  genealogical  tree.  The  Bourbons  descended  from  butch 
ers,  and  the  Plaiitageiiets  have  descended  into  butchers,  hon 
estly  earning  their  bread  in  butchering  brutes  in  lieu  of  win 
ning  glory  by  butchering  men.  The  lordly  Montmorencis  had 
no  better  origin  than  that  of  a  robber  chief,  a  French  Rob  Roy, 
ennobled  because  too  troublesome  and  powerful  to  be  subdued ; 
and  many  of  England's  best  estates,  with  their  titles,  are  but 
the  plunder  of  religious  houses  by  Henry.  VIII. ,  or  the  prizes 
awarded  unblushing  vice  by  the  "merry  monarch."  Great 
deeds  create  great  names,  but  great  names  are  no  warrant  for 
great  deeds.  Titled  greatness  begets  courtly  corruption,  which 
in  the  end  precipitates  its  possessors  as  far  below  the  moral 
level  of  society  as  their  rank  was  above  its  general  grade. 


18  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


The  noblesse  of  Louis  XV.  are  an  apt  illustration  of  this  truth. 
Though  personally  brave  when  impelled  by  vanity,  and  liberal 
when  pride  was  aroused,  yet  they  were  steeped  to  the  heart's 
core  in  profligate  egotism.  Martyrs,  if  need  be,  to  sustain  in 
dividual  crime  or  licentiousness,  when  the  hour  of  danger  to 
Louis  XVI.  arrived,  they  basely  fled,  and  left  the  monarch  to 
be  slaughtered  by  the  masses  whose  fury  their  shameless  vices 
had  aroused.  Madame  du  Barri,  who  knew  them  well,  says, 
the  greatest  lords  sought  with  eagerness  the  friendship  of  Le- 
bel,  who  ministered  to  the  profligacy  of  Louis  XV.  They  all 
had  a  wife,  sister,  or  daughter  ambitious  for  the  post  of  favorite 
sultana.  Thus  the  destinies  of  France  were  at  the  mercy  of 
a  valet.  The  Duke  de  Richelieu,  in  giving  her  advice  upon 
her  succeeding  the  Pompadour,  after  exhibiting  in  himself  in 
conceivable  baseness,  concluded  by  saying,  "  Take  care  ;  you 
are  too  good,  too  frank.  Distrust  every  body  ;  we  are  all  here 
hypocrites  ;"  and  the  distrust,  hypocrisy,  and  falsehood  so  cul 
tivated  by  the  court,  has  left  its  traces  to  this  day  deep  in  the 
general  character  of  the  people.  "  It  was  impossible  to  doubt 
of  my  favor,"  continues  Madame  du  Barri,  "  when  I  saw  noble 
persons  present  themselves  to  fill  servile  employments  about 
me."  Yet  these  noble  persons  were  the  aristocracy  of  France, 
and  Madame  du  Barri  a  young  prostitute,  but  a  few  days  be 
fore  transported  from  a  low  haunt  to  the  palace  of  Versailles. 
Yet  to  such  a  depth  of  degradation  had  this  court  fallen,  that 
the  project  of  her  formal  presentation  involved  more  nego 
tiations  and  intrigue  than  did  at  a  later  period  the  declaration 
of  war  with  England  and  the  alliance  with  the  then  struggling 
colonies  of  America. 

Louis  XV.  sketched  the  likeness  of  his  nobility  with  one 
stroke  when  he  remarked,  "  One  never  wounds  one  here  when 
they  make  a  present,"  and  La  Marechale  de  Mirepoix  as  hap 
pily  illustrated  his,  when  she  declared  that  "  he  drew  with- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  19 


out  scruple  upon  the  public  treasure  of  France  the  value  of 
twofold  its  revenue,  but  he  would  have  made  two  parts  of  a 
crown  out  of  his  own  private  purse." 

The  favorite  literature  of  this  "  well-beloved  king"  of  France 
was  "  Les  Dons  de  Comus"  and  "  La  Cuisiniere  Bourgeoise," 
the  contents  of  which  books  he  knew  by  heart.  His  chief  van 
ity  was  in  being  considered  an  accomplished  cook,  to  obtain 
the  reputation  of  which  he  not  only  discoursed  learnedly  upon 
all  topics  connected  with  the  kitchen,  but  undertook  at  times 
to  display  the  practical  proficiency  of  his  own  royal  hands. 
At  one  of  his  suppers,  at  which  were  present  sundry  "  gour 
mets"  of  the  first  water,  an  omelette  of  his  manufacture  was 
served.  It  was  frightfully  burned,  for,  as  the  narrator  naive 
ly  remarks,  kings  in  general  do  not  make  good  cooks.  They 
lack  attention  and  patience.  All  the  guests  viewed  it  with 
consternation.  Nevertheless,  Louis  XV.  impartially  distrib 
uted  a  part  to  each,  and  took  his  own,  saying,  "  It  is  a  little 
burned,  but  still  it  is  eatable."  This  execrable  omelette  was 
devoured  and  praised,  for,  as  says  one  of  their  number,  the 
stomachs  of  courtiers  are  equally  as  devoted  to  their  prince  as 
their  hearts. 

An  amusing,  if  not  instructive  narrative  might  be  drawn  up 
from  the  follies  and  vices  of  the  aristocracy  of  this  reign,  but 
one  could  not  do  this  without  disclosing  orgies  and  crimes  in 
which  appear  the  noblest  names  of  France,  little  in  accordance 
with  the  manners  and  tastes  of  the  present  age.  It  is  better 
that  their  mantle  of  infamy  should  be  undisturbed.  To  raise  it 
in  the  least  would  be  to  give  vent  to  foul  odors  Yet  for  those 
whose  secret  yearnings  are  for  aristocratic  rank,  and  who  are 
believers  in  the  different  degrees  of  fineness  of  the  human 
porcelain,  I  would  extract  from  original  sketches  a  picture  of 
patrician  pride  and  dignity  that  can  not  fail  to  enchant  them. 
The  lady  in  question  was  no  parvenu  noble.  She  was  the 


SO  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

incarnation  of  the  spirit  of  rank,  an  aristocrat  to  her  veiy  mar 
row  ;  not  an  embodiment  of  vulgar  pride  or  weaker  vanity, 
but  a  high-minded,  lofty-hearted  woman,  gifted  with  rare  wit 
and  intelligence,  and  learned  in  all  the  accomplishments  of 
her  day.  Her  day  was  not  a  brief  one,  for  she  connected  in 
her  own  life  the  empires  of  Louis  XIV.  and  Napoleon.  By 
both  these  rnonarchs  were  her  hands  respectfully  kissed  ;  the 
former  when  she  was  but  eleven  years  of  age,  and  the  latter 
in  her  ninety-eighth  year.  The  Richelieus  and  Talleyrands 
were  to  her  but  modern  upstarts.  She  says  of  the  latter  fam 
ily,  with  a  tincture  of  scorn,  that  they  were  never  able  to  make 
their  proofs  of  nobility  date  back  farther  than  1460.  The  La 
Fayettes,  as  philosophers  and  Republicans,  met  with  no  more 
favor.  She  looked  back  upon  a  long  line  of  grim,  crusading 
warriors,  to  the  days  of  the  saintly  Louis,  as  her  ancestors,  in 
termingling  with  barons,  marshals,  embassadors,  and  dignita 
ries  of  Church  and  state,  so  that,  through  courtly  favor  and 
well-negotiated  marriages,  her  kin  acknowledged  the  right  of 
precedence  to  but  few  in  the  kingdom.  A  firm  believer  in  "  old 
families,"  her  mind  was  stored  with  the  genealogical  history 
of  every  noble  house  of  Europe.  She  was  a  living  encyclope 
dia  of  rank,  a  sort  of  Burke's  Peerage  in  the  most  delightful 
of  editions,  and  a  store-house  of  facts  and  anecdotes  connect 
ed  with  the  noblesse  of  France.  The  cumbersome  etiquette 
of  Versailles  was  to  her  a  faith.  She  believed  in  high  birth 
and  hereditary  monarchy  as  instituted  of  heaven ;  the  legiti 
mate  king  was  to  her  the  Lord's  anointed,  and  any  infraction 
of  the  ceremonies  of  rank  were  sins  that  required  peculiar  ex 
piation.  Neither  her  philosophy  nor  history  always  extended 
back  to  the  origin  of  old  families.  She  was  content  that  they 
had  been  illustrious  for  centuries,  had  furnished  the  proofs  of 
nobility  previous  to  1 399,  been  admitted  to  the  honors  of  the 
Louvre,  wore  the  blue  cord  or  red  heel,  enjoyed  the  right  to 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  21 

enter  the  carriages  of  the  king  or  to  follow  him  to  the  hunt. 
Each  individual  noble  was  as  accurately  classed  by  her  in  po 
sition,  honors,  and  rights,  the  boundaries  of  which  were  as 
impassable  as  the  northern  passage,  as  if  he  or  she  were  a  nu 
mismatic  specimen,  arranged  according  to  date  in  a  cabinet. 
The  privileges  of  caste  were  no  less  sacred  in  her  eyes  than 
the  Ten  Commandments.  With  all  this  devotion  to  rank,  the 
Marquise  de  Crequy  was  no  less  devout  in  her  religious  creed, 
in  which  submission  to  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  figured  as 
conspicuously  as  submission  to  her  sovereign. 

If  any  of  my  lady  readers  are  disposed  to  play  the  courtly 
aristocrat,  the  clippings  which  I  shall  take  from  her  life  will 
form  a  better  standard  of  what  is  to  be  expected  in  that  char 
acter  than  any  other  biography  I  am  acquainted  with.  She 
is  a  model  in  this  respect.  If  the  atmosphere  of  America  be 
blighting  to  this  species  of  social  fruit,  her  real  virtues  are 
worthy  every  where  of  imitation  and  respect.  Weaknesses 
she  undoubtedly  had,  but  they  were  the  exhalations  of  her 
aristocratic  faith  and  education.  Her  very  prejudices  and  ha 
treds  flow  so  naturally  and  charmingly  from  her  loyalty,  and 
the  proud  but  quiet  consciousness  of  what,  in  her  eyes,  was 
the  elixir  of  existence — a  distinguished  descent,  that  we  should 
consider  it  as  sacrilegious  to  disturb  them  as  to  shake  the  faith 
of  a  departing  Christian. 

The  first  visit  she  made  to  her  grandmother  is  worth  relat 
ing  in  her  own  words,  as  illustrating  the  style  of  the  time. 
This  relative,  whose  names  and  titles  we  have  not  the  pa 
tience  to  inflict  upon  our  readers,  even  if  they  possessed  the 
patience  to  read  them,  "  etait  etablie  sur  son  estrade  et  son 
lit  entre  quatre  colonnes  dorees,  sous  un  dais  le  plus  riche  et. 
le  plus  empanache,  dont  la  balustrade  etait  fermee.  Sa  cor- 
nette  et  sa  hongreline  de  dentelle  etaient  garnies  avec  des 
bouffettes  de  satin  gris  de  perle,  et  du  reste  elle  etait  sous  un 


22  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


couvre-pieds  d'une  seule  piece  en  point  de  Yenise.  Je  suis 
persuadee  que  la  garniture  de  ses  draps,  valait  au  moins  qua- 
rantes  mille  ecus. 

*'  SA  peine  e'tions-nous  assisses,  qu'on  entendit  ouvrir  les  deux 
battans  de  toutes  les  portes  de  1'enfilade  avec  un  fracas  incon- 
cevable,  et  que  nous  vimes  apparaitre  une  petite  figure  qu'on 
apportait  sur  un  grand  fauteuil  de  velours  vert  galonne  d 'ar 
gent.  C'etait  une  sorte  d'image  enlumine'e,  grimacaute  etpein- 
turluree  comme  un  joujou  de  Nuremberg,  avec  la  bouche  en 
co3ur  et  deux  petits  yeux  languissans.  Cette  etrange  figure 
etait  habillee  d'une  etofie  d 'argent  brodee  en  chenille  verte,  et, 
de  plus,  elle  avait  un  gros  bouquet  de  verveine  -a  la  main.  Le 
fauteuil  etait  porte  par  quatre  geans,  habilles  en  valets  de 
pied  ;  et  etait  environne  par  cinq  ou  six  petits  pages,  les  plus 
jolis  du  monde,  et  c'etait  visiblement  des  enfans  de  bonne 
maison,  car  ils  avaient  tous  la  croix  de  Malte  ou  celle  de  Saint 
Lazare.  Un  de  ces  pages  etait  charge  d'un  coussin  pour 
mettre  sous  les  pieds  (toujours  vert  et  argent) ;  un  autre  por- 
tait  une  grosse  gerbe  de  verveine  et  de  rhue  verte,  afin  de  pu 
rifier  Fair."  This  morning  caller  was  the  Duke  de  Gevres. 

The  following  description  of  a  carriage  of  that  epoch,  pre 
sented  by  a  lover  to  his  mistress,  will  not  be  without  interest 
to  those  whose  aristocracy  consists  in  display.  The  body  of 
the  carriage  was  of  deep  gilt,  ornamented  with  the  most  brill 
iant  and  finest  arabesque  paintings,  in  various  colors.  On  the 
panels  were  cupids  forming  ciphers  in  garlands  of  flowers, 
by  the  best  artists.  The  glasses  were  protected  by  a  fine  grat 
ing  of  gilt  bronze,  chased  in  mauresque,  ornamented  with  gold 
en  knots  upon  each  of  the  intervening  spaces.  The  entire  in 
terior  was  lined  with  bags  filled  with  herbs  of  the  most  deli 
cate  perfume.  The  cushions  were  covered  with  pearl  satin, 
richly  embroidered  with  wild  flowers  in  their  natural  colors, 
beautifully  entwined,  and  creeping  upon  a  golden  trellis,  also 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  23 

embroidered  upon  the  satin.  The  two  seats  were  also  stuffed 
with  perfumed  herbs  and  covered  with  green  satin,  embroi 
dered  with  flowers  and  leaves  of  deeper  tints.  The  foot-car 
pet  was  made  of  the  feathers  of  rare  tropical  birds,  sparkling 
with  gold  and  a  thousand  bright  colors.  This  carpet  alone 
cost  36,000  francs. 

The  body  of  the  coach  was  placed  upon  a  large  golden  shell, 
the  interior  of  which  was  inlaid  with  mother  of  pearl  so  skill 
fully  as  to  appear  but  one  piece.  This  shell  was  supported 
by  groups  of  charming  fairies  and  young  Tritons,  cast  in  bronze 
with  wonderful  spirit,  and  richly  gilt.  The  wheels  were  fluted 
and  gilt,  and  the  spokes  were  of  solid  silver,  "  which,"  says 
Madame  de  Crequy,  "appeared  the  least  thing  of  all,  in  the 
midst  of  the  other  magnificence.  The  harness  was  loaded 
with  gold,  and  the  horses  shod  with  silver. 

Unfortunately  for  my  fair  American  readers,  to  whom  I 
would  present  for  imitation  the  very  pearl  of  aristocracy,  Mad 
ame  de  Crequy  had  a  supreme  contempt  for  all  wealth  or  fash 
ion  that  savored  of  commerce.  Her  patent  of  nobility  lay 
wholly  in  the  sword,  and  she  has  but  little  patience  and  less 
forgiveness  for  even  her  eminent  countrymen  of  the  "  haute 
noblesse"  who  forsook  the  profession  of  that  weapon  for  the 
learned  duties  of  the  robe.  Alas  for  the  degeneracy  of  our 
race  !  He  who  slaughters  and  sells  most  pork  is  nigher  a  for 
tune  and  position  than  he  who  fights.  Warriors  are  at  a  dis 
count  ;  their  occupation  of  fighting  "  on  their  own  hook"  is 
gone.  Commerce  has  extinguished  chivalry.  The  success 
ful  merchant  is  honored,  but  knight-errantry  ridiculed.  By 
Madame  de  Crequy's  aristocratic  code,  commerce,  once  admit 
ted  into  an  old  family,  sullied  forever  the  pure  blood  of  no 
ble  descent.  The  more  numerous  the  quarterings,  the  deeper 
the  stain  upon  the  escutcheon.  The  "  damn'd  spot"  could 
neither  wear  nor  wash  out.  Her  indignation  becomes  too 


24  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

strong  for  words  at  a  proposition  made  by  M.  de  Saint  Simon 
to  take  an  interest  in  a  manufactory  of  pottery  established  by 
the  Duke  de  Liancourt.  In  relating  it  to  her  grandson,  she 
simply  says,  "  You  will  rightly  think  that  I  did  not  take  the 
trouble  to  reply  to  him.  Figure  to  yourself  your  grandmother, 
Madame  de  Froulay-Tesse-Beaumannoir  et  Lavardin,  a  man 
ufacturer  of  pitchers,  pipes,  and  pots  for  sale."  It  would,  in 
deed,  have  been  a  trying  name  for  a  firm's  sign  or  signature. 
Riches,  with  her,  were  a  good  thing  to  sustain  rank,  but  they 
were  very  far  from  conferring  consideration.  And  to  her  credit 
be  it  said,  though  long-conferred  nobility  covered  a  multitude 
of  sins,  yet  her  standard  of  individual  character  was  high.  No 
bility  of  character  she  rightly  considered  should  always  accom 
pany  nobility  of  descent.  Her  ideas  in  regard  to  the  common 
topic  of  our  age  are  worth  recording.  She  writes  to  her  grand 
son  :  "  Listen  to  the  recital  of  a  disaster  that  will  make  you 
grow  pale.  The  Prince  de  Guemenee,  head  of  the  house  of 
Rohan-Rohan,  possessed  a  rent  of  not  less  than  two  millions. 
He  kept  up  a  style  proper  to  such  a  fortune,  without  being  ex 
travagant  or  possessing  any  ruinous  tastes.  It  was  sometimes 
said  that  he  borrowed  money  on  his  annuities,  but  at  court 
and  in  the  fashionable  world  no  one  took  notice  of  such  speech 
es.  As  of  a  man  of  fashion  or  woman  of  quality,  when  it  was 
said,  he  is  rich,  she  is  poor,  or  they  are  comfortable,  nothing  more 
was  thought  of  it,  and,  provided  they  could  appear  respecta 
bly,  nothing  further  was  required.  Before  the  Revolution  of 
1793  and  the  miseries  of  the  emigration,  just  heaven  and  God 
of  St.  Louis !  if  we  had  met  gentlemen  who  were  agitated 
about  their  rents,  or  showed  themselves  occupied  in  matters 
of  money,  they  would  have  been  exiled  to  the  "  Rue  Basse" 
or  the  Faubourg  Poissonniere.  The  bankers,  who  lived  and 
dreamed  in  ciphers,  took  care  to  talk  no  more  on  these  mat 
ters  than  we.  The  consideration  for  persons  of  fashion  was 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  25 


regulated  after  the  nobility  of  their  birth  arid  character,  for 
rank,  properly  so  called,  does  not  always  suffice.  In  every 
case,  personal  consideration  was  independent  of  wealth.  I  as 
sure  you  that  no  one  occupied  themselves  or  spoke  of  the  for 
tunes  of  others,  unless  it  was  a  question  of  marriage.  Those 
who  had  no  one  to  marry  never  listened.  The  Duchess  of 
Grammoiit  always  said  that  she  knew  but  three  persons  who 
spoke  of  money — the  Duke  of  Chartres,  M.  Neckar,  and  Mad 
ame  Neckar. 

"  It  was  soon  whispered  that  the  Prince  of  Guemenee  was 
ruined." 

"  '  What  is  that  you  say  ?' 

" '  It  is  a  complete  failure — so  say  my  advocates.' 

'"What  does  that  signify?  What  is  a  failure?  Explain 
yourself,  you  who  talk  with  men  of  business,  and  follow  the 
process  of  suits.' 

"  '  It  is  a  bankruptcy.' 

"  '  Then  he  must  have  been  in  commerce.  Only  merchants 
become  bankrupt ;  and  how  could  M.  de  Guemenee  ?' 

" '  They  say  that  his  intendant  has  fled.' 

"  '  Very  well ;  let  him  take  another.  One  never  need  want 
an  intendant.' 

"  '  It  is  true,  but  it  creates  great  talk  ;  the  Hotel  of  Soubise 
surrounded  with  a  noisy  crowd.' 

"  '  It  is  very  insolent !' 

"  '  It  is  inconceivable  !' " 

Such  was  the  fashionable  talk  in  regard  to  a  deficit  of 
34,000,000  francs,  borrowed  chiefly  from  the  savings  of  work 
people  and  persons  of  small  incomes.  As  the  creditors  were 
not  content  to  remain  silent,  they  were  at  first  considered  by 
the  circle  of  the  prince  as  not  possessing  "  common  sense  ;' 
but  Madame  de  Crequy  says  that  when  it  came  to  be  under 
stood  that  so  powerful  a  lord  as  M.  de  Guemenee  had  borrow 

B 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIi3LES. 


ed  money  that  he  could  not  honorably  pay,  as  his  estates  were 
entailed,  there  resulted  among  the  "  haute  noblesse"  a  sort  of 
febrile  oppression,  intermingled  with  general  indignation  and 
great  bitterness. 

His  wife,  Madame  de  Guemene'e,  was  one  of  the  last  to  be 
come  acquainted  with  his  situation.  "When  it  finally  reached 
her  ears,  she  was  indignant  that  so  much  should  be  made 
"  de  si  pen  de  chose."  She  went  to  her  husband,  and  told  him 
that  she  had  resources.  "  At  the  end  of  twenty-four  hours, 
with  my  diamonds,  without  mentioning  plate,  of  which  I  have 
two  chambers  filled,  I  shall  find  more  than  enough  to  pay  your 
rents,  and  the  proof  is,  that  they  are  now  coming  to  count  you 
12,000,000  on  account  of  a  rag  of  paper  that  I  have  had  but 
the  trouble  to  sign.  They  condemn  you  to  reimburse  your 
loans  in  place  of  paying  the  rents,  and  your  estates  are  all  en 
tailed  ;  but  they  have  always  told  me  that  I  have  more  than 
50,000,000  of  property  entirely  free.  Why  did  not  you  and 
your  men  of  business  remember  this  ?  But  do  not  talk  about 
those  miserable  wretches  that  have  so  annoyed  you.  In  mar 
rying,  my  fortune  naturally  became  at  your  orders.  You  are 
the  eldest  of  the  house  of  Rohan,  my  prince,  and,  if  you  were 
not  my  husband,  I  would  not  leave  you  in  this  embarrassment. 
Permit  me  to  tell  you  that,  in  this  affair,  your  conduct  has  been 
inconceivably  ridiculous." 

With  all  her  partiality  for  the  system  of  which  she  was  her 
self  so  worthy  a  representative,  Madame  de  Crequy  testifies 
that  it  perished  by  its  own  inherent  vices.  She  says  Bona 
parte  wished  to  call  about  him  the  high  nobility,  who  never 
would  have  been  of  any  service  to  him.  "  The  greater  part 
of  the  great  lords  had  been  educated  without  piety,  and  had 
commenced  to  live  too  young.  Incapable  of  exercising  the 
authority  of  rank,  they  were  of  races  enervated  by  luxury, 
weakened  in  intelligence,  and  spoiled  by  domination.  Why 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  27 

did  not  the  great  nobility  furnish  a  man  to  put  down  the  Rev 
olution  ?  Why,  among  the  nobles  that  distinguished  them 
selves  for  devotion  and  capacity,  was  there  not  found  a  single 
great  lord  ?  Why  was  it  that,  among  all  the  great  lords  that 
figured  in  the  Revolution,  there  were  only  to  be  remarked  dis 
loyalty  and  want  of  intelligence  ?"  The  Bishop  of  Autun  was 
her  bete  noir  in  chief.  Of  him  she  writes,  "  This  abominable 
bishop  is  in  my  eyes  a  calamity  for  the  country,  an  ulcer  in  the 
heart  of  the  Church,  a  shameful  sore.  I  shall  never  have  the 
cowardice  to  speak  to  him,  whatever  may  arrive.  I  shall  al 
ways  blush  in  him  for  the  nobility  of  France,  and  in  him  have 
a  horror  of  myself.  I  truly  believe  that  I  should  prefer  to 
mount  the  scaffold  than  to  enter  his  house  to  sit  beside  him." 
She  would  have  the  nobility  true  to  what  she  considered  their 
high  calling  ;  for  "  a  prince,"  referring  to  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
"  who  swims  in  two  waters,  who  smiles  upon  the  people,  and 
who  seems  inclined  to  the  side  of  democracy,  appears  to  me 
an  insupportable  man."  With  all  this  devotion  to  her  caste, 
she  did  not  hesitate  to  frown  upon  vice,  even  in  a  king,  though 
it  must  be  confessed  that  the  thermometer  of  her  severity  was 
as  much  depressed  at  the  mesalliance  as  the  crime.  Her  heart 
was  born  in  its  right  place,  and  it  is  curious  to  observe  the  oc 
casional  effect  of  an  artificial  education  on  her  naturally  cor 
rect  judgment.  A  mistress  of  rank  was  a  la  mode,  but  to  stoop 
to  a  grisette  was  unpardonable.  Madame  de  Pompadour  could 
be  overlooked,  but  the  presence  of  Madame  du  Barri  at  Ver 
sailles  was  only  to  be  expiated  by  the  absence  of  Madame  de 
Crequy.  She  was  right,  only  her  conscience  did  not  extend 
sufficiently  far.  She  says  that  she  ceased  to  go  to  court  in  1771 , 
and  she  never  saw  Madame  du  Barri  but  once,  at  a  review  at 
Pablons.  Madame  de  Mirepoix — who,by-the-way,  was  a  char 
acter  that  it  would  be  injustice  even  to  a  Du  Barri  to  compare 
her  to,  but  she  was  a  "  marechale" — was  in  the  same  coach,  and 


28  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

at  the  left  of  this  beautiful  lady.  "  I  asked  who  this  unknown 
princess  could  be  that  treated  so  familiarly  the  widow  of  a 
Prince  of  Lorraine  and  a  Marshal  of  France.  The  Viscount  de 
Laval  replied,  as  if  it  were  nothing,  *  It  is  Madame  the  Count 
ess  du-Barri,'  for  he  had  the  charming  delicacy  and  the  *  cour- 
tisauene'1  to  separate  the  article  of  the  name,  for  a  good  exam 
ple.  I  pulled  the  check-string,  and,  without  replying  to  the 
viscount,  ordered  the  coachman  '  chez-moi.'  "  As  for  "  la  mare'- 
chale,"  she  cut  her  from  that  day  henceforward.  Yet  to  those 
she  respected  she  practiced  a  courtesy  as  delicate  as  rare.  To 
ward  Madame  Brissac,  whose  name  was  "  ve'nerablement  his- 
torique,"  she  had  so  great  consideration  that  she  always  apolo 
gized  when  the  etiquette  of  rank  obliged  her  to  place  herseli 
above  her. 

The  politeness  of  superiors  was  not  always  imitated  by  their 
dependents.  Having  occasion  to  engage  a  coachman,  before 
accepting  the  situation  he  inquired,  "  I  wish  to  know  of  mad- 
ame  to  whom  madame  yields  the  way."  "  To  every  body — I 
yield  to  every  body  except  in  the  streets  and  court-yards  of 
Versailles."  "How!  does  madame  order  her  first  coachman 
to  yield  the  way  in  the  streets  of  Paris  to  presidents  ?"  "  Cer 
tainly — without  doubt."  "  But  madame  should  not  yield  to 
bankers  ;  and  madame  knows  very  well,  if  the  servants  of  a 
banker  dispute  the  way  with  her  coachman,  he  will  strike 
them  in  the  face  with  his  whip."  "  Oh  !  the  bankers  should 
know  the  liveries,  and  as  for  the  rest,  Mr.  Coachman,  I  do  not 
intend  that,  on  the  pavements  of  Paris,  and  for  persons  abso 
lutely  without  consequence,  my  carriages  should  be  upset  and 
my  horses  ham-strung."  "  It  is  true,  rnadame  has  but  twelve 
horses  ;  and,  besides,  it  is  my  custom  only  to  yield  the  way  to 
princes  of  the  blood;  so  I  shall  not  suit,  madame?"  It  would 
scarcely  be  prudent,  in  the  year  1852,  to  say  that  Louis  Napo 
leon  and  Rothschild  were  "  personnages  absolument  sans  con- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


sequence,"  albeit  one  is  only  a  president  and  the  other  mere 
ly  a  banker. 

Perhaps  the  two  extremes  of  aristocracy  have  never  been 
better  represented  than  by  Madame  de  Crequy  and  our  Frank 
lin  :  the  former  the  embodiment  of  exalted  titular  rank,  cra 
dled  in  luxury,  by  nature  refined,  spirituelle,  and  sincere,  by 
education  versed  in  all  the  elegant  and  many  of  the  solid  ac 
complishments  of  the  day  ;  quick  in  repartee,  keen  in  wit, 
and  with  all  her  prejudices  a  sensible  aristocrat :  the  latter 
equally  exalted  in  rank,  the  result  of  his  individual  merits  and 
the  respect  and  confidence  of  his  fellow-citizens  ;  earnest,  hon 
est,  and  intelligent,  without  education  except  such  as  his  own 
exertions  and  experience  had  conferred  upon  him,  despising 
ceremonies,  and  inflexible  to  his  creed  of  ulititarianism,  simple 
in  dress  and  plain  in  speech :  this  representative  of  the  peo 
ple  afforded  the  most  striking  contrast  to  the  representative 
of  the  aristocracy.  They  met.  Their  greeting  must  have  re 
minded  the  spectators  of  Vulcan  saluting  Psyche.  Happily  for 
himself  and  our  cause,  Franklin  arrived  at  Paris  at  an  epoch 
when  the  old  regime,  with  its  cumbersome  apparel,  was  fast 
becoming  stale  and  effete.  A  novelty  was  a  blessing.  Frank 
lin  was  a  decided  novelty.  Revolutionary  ideas  had  ceased  to 
be  such  ;  but  a  plain,  honest,  strong-minded  democrat  was  a 
new  thing  under  the  sun  of  Paris.  If  the  Leviathan  had  stalk 
ed  into  the  Champs  Elysees,  it  would  not  have  created  a  great 
er  sensation.  A  feted  lion  he  was  instanter,  and  through  him 
and  by  him  the  prestige  of  rank  in  France  received  its  death- 
wound.  Franklin  was  the  apostle  of  the  people,  without  title, 
without  wealth,  without  ancestry ;  as  mechanic,  merchant,  phi 
losopher,  soldier,  statesman,  and  diplomat,  equally  distinguish 
ed  in  every  sphere,  the  Titan*  of  them  all.  No  wonder  that 
Louis  XVI.,  Marie  Antoinette,  and  women  of  quality  like  Mad 
ame  de  Crequy,  instinctively  dreaded  this  man.  Etiquette 


30  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


and  policy  forced  the  Bourbon  and  his  queen  to  disguise  their 
sentiments,  but  the  latter  lady  did  not  hesitate  to  declare  hers, 
although  she  met  him  but  once,  at  a  dinner,  when  the  place 
of  honor,  next  to  Franklin,  was  reserved  for  her.  She  says 
that  she  did  not  address  him  a  single  word,  because  she  did  not 
know  what  to  say  to  this  "  printer."  He  had  on  a  brown  coat, 
brown  vest,  breeches  of  the  same  color,  and  a  cravat  striped 
with  red.  "  That  which  I  saw  the  most  remarkable  in  him  was 
his  mode  of  eating  eggs.  He  emptied  five  or  six  into  a  gob 
let,  mingling  butter,  salt,  pepper,  and  mustard,  and  thus  made 
a  '  joli  ragout  Philadelphique.'  It  is  right  also  to  tell  you  that 
he  did  not  detach  his  food  with  a  spoon,  and  that  he  cut  with 
a  knife  the  pieces  of  melon  he  wished  to  eat ;  he  also  bit  the 
asparagus  in  lieu  of  cutting  the  point  with  his  knife  upon  the 
plate,  and  of  eating  it  properly  with  his  fork.  You  perceive 
it  was  the  mode  of  a  savage." 

Such  were  the  aristrocrat's  impressions  of  the  democrat. 
Pity  we  have  not  the  reverse  of  the  picture.  In  lieu,  however, 
she  gives  two  other  anecdotes  worth  relating.  Madame  Neck- 
ar  invited  Franklin  and  his  grandson,  aged  four  years,  to  meet 
Voltaire  at  dinner.  She  besought  the  sage  of  Ferney  to  be 
stow  his  benediction  upon  the  little  American.  Voltaire  arose, 
and,  placing  his  hands  upon  the  head  of  the  urchin,  exclaim 
ed,  in  the  tone  of  a  "  diable  enrhume,"  "  LIBERTE,  TOLERANCE 
ET  PROBITE  !" 

Among  the  salutations  of  etiquette,  it  was  required  to  bow 
to  the  throne  of  France  in  passing  before  it,  as  is  done  by 
good  Catholics  of  the  present  day  before  their  altars.  In  ad 
dition  to  this,  however,  equal  reverence  was  demanded  for 
the  Cadenat  of  the  king.  Franklin,  seeing  the  Cardinal  de  la 
Rochefoucault  bow  before  this  great  gilt  box,  asked  if  it  con 
tained  sacred  relics.  Upon  being  informed  that  it  held  the 
utensils  of  the  table,  he  exclaimed,  "  Prodigious  /"  which  my 
readers  will  doubtless  cordially  echo. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  31 

Madame  de  Crequy  says  she  never  had  her  hand  upon  the 
knocker  of  her  own  door  but  once,  and  then  she  did  not  know 
how  to  use  it.  It  was  the  morning  after  the  fearful  catastrophe 
in  the  present  Place  de  la  Concorde,  by  which  twelve  hundred 
lives  were  lost  on  the  occasion  of  the  fete  of  the  marriage  of 
Marie  Antionette.  Madame  de  Cre'quy  had  remained  all  night 
in  a  ditch,  into  which  she  had  been  precipitated  by  the  crowd, 
without  injury.  She  Avas  then  near  seventy  years  of  age,  and 
unable  to  get  out  in  the  dark  without  assistance.  She  heard 
the  voices  of  the  patrol,  and  at  first  thought  of  asking  assist 
ance,  but  was  prevented  by  a  sort  of  sentiment  which  she  had 
not  suspected  was  in  her.  "  Old  age  is  sometimes  embar 
rassed  without  being  timid,  and  particularly  when  it  is  over 
come  with  a  feminine  sentiment,  that  is,  a  sort  of  delicacy,  or, 
if  you  like  it  better,  of  natural  coquetry.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
to  those  soldiers  rny  apparition  would  give  impertinent  ideas ; 
for  instance,  that  of  an  old  sorceress  issuing  from  the  earth.  I 
feared  they  would  laugh  at  me  when  they  saw  my  face,  and  it 
appeared  beneath  me  to  solicit  succor  at  the  price  of  money ; 
for,  take  away  my  name,  titles,  and  fortune,  and  each  one  of 
those  men  would  save,  in  preference  to  me,  any  clumsy,  gross, 
but  pretty-faced  chamber-rnaid."  So  she  remained  quietly 
all  night  in  that  ditch  amid  the  wounded  and  dead,  scram 
bling  out  at  daybreak,  and,  for  the  first  time  probably,  walking 
unattended  to  her  own  hotel. 

Her  memoirs  are  a  wonderful  example  of  the  saying  that  a 
French  woman  never  grows  old,  at  least  in  mind.  Bordering 
on  a  century,  she  is  as  witty,  as  fresh,  and  as  malicious  as  at 
twenty.  Nothing  escapes  her  observation,  and  neither  mem 
ory  nor  any  of  her  senses  appear  to  have  lost  the  vigor  of 
youth.  Not  the  least  interesting  portion  of  her  life  is  that  she 
spent  in  the  prisons  of  Paris,  where,  scorning  to  emigrate,  she 
was  at  last  sent.  She  was  apprehended  under  the  charge  of 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


distributing  forged  assignats.  They  searched  her  person  in 
the  most  odious  and  insolent  manner,  and  at  last  thrust  her 
into  a  cellar,  in  which  there  was  neither  seat  of  any  kind  nor 
even  straw.  They  undertook  to  interrogate  her,  and  asked  if 
she  was  93  years  old.  She  was  that ;  and  believing  that  death 
must,  at  all  events,  soon  visit  her  in  some  other  shape,  if  not 
by  the  guillotine,  she  determined  not  to  open  her  lips.  For 
once  an  old  woman  baffled  the  cunning  and  ferocity  of  that 
dread  tribunal.  Nothing  could  overcome  her  silence.  They 
saw  it  was  folly  to  threaten  death  to  nearly  fivescore  years  ; 
and  finally,  after  grinding  their  teeth  and  shaking  their  fists 
at  her  in  impotent  rage,  they  cursed  her  for  a  deaf  old  aristo 
crat,  and  left  her,  without  food  or  bed,  to  pass  the  night  as  she 
best  could  on  the  damp  floor  of  her  dismal  dungeon. 

On  the  second  anniversary  of  the  capture  of  the  Bastile,  she 
had  been  ordered  to  illuminate  her  hotel,  but  refused.  Her 
aristocracy  was  so  firm  that,  even  in  those  days  of  terror,  it 
inspired  respect.  Robespierre  treated  her  with  marked  civil 
ity,  and  defended  her  cause  against  a  claimant  for  her  proper 
ty,  who  asserted  himself  to  be  the  rightful  heir.  He  was  the 
son  of  a  mechanic  in  the  Rue  St.  Denis,  or  was  supposed  to  be, 
and,  after  pressing  his  suit  for  some  years,  was  guillotined  as 
an  aristocrat. 

The  jailer  had  two  young  children,  both  of  whom  were  sick 
with  the  small-pox.  Madame  de  Cre'quy,  fearing  they  would 
die,  stole  quietly  into  their  room  at  night,  and  baptized  them 
into  the  faith  of  the  Holy  Catholic  Church,  administering  the 
rite  without  the  consciousness  even  of  its  recipients.  Had 
she  been  detected,  she  would  have  been  hurried  promptly  to 
execution.  She  says,  in  leaving  the  prison  after  the  fall  of 
Robespierre,  she  revealed  the  fact  to  their  mother,  that  the 
poor  children  might  know  to  whom  they  belonged  in  case  God 
took  their  livo*. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  33 


The  scenes  she  describes  of  her  prison  life  are  replete  with 
humor  and  pathos,  at  one  time  having  for  her  companions 
Madames  Roland  and  Josephine  Beauharnais.  The  last  of  Au 
gust,  1794,  she  was  called  upon  to  mount  the  fatal  cart  that 
conveyed  the  prisoners  to  the  scaffold.  Being  delayed  by  some 
indispensable  preparations,  the  driver  cursed  her  for  keeping 
him  waiting,  in  the  multiplicity  of  his  epithets  calling  her  a 
"  vieille  calotinocrate-anstocrachc.'1'1  The  delay  saved  her  life. 
The  jailer  came  in  and  explained  that  it  was  another  Cre'quy 
that  was  called.  Mistakes  in  names  were  not  uncommon,  and 
seldom  corrected  before  the  tribunal.  The  full  complement  of 
heads  was  required,  and  it  mattered  little  by  what  names 
they  were  known. 

She  was  soon  after  released,  and,  notwithstanding  her  suf 
ferings,  found  herself  rejuvenated  twenty  years,  which  she  at 
tributes  to  the  severity  of  her  abstinence,  and  particularly  to 
the  rigor  of  the  cold,  for  no  fires  were  allowed.  Yet  she  adds, 
for  all  that,  it  was  a  frightful  punishment. 

With  a  sentiment  not  uncommon  to  long  captivity,  she  at 
first  regretted  her  prison,  her  companions,  and  the  fraternity 
of  misfortune.  Her  friends  were  exiled,  massacred,  or  fled. 
Her  vast  hotel  was  more  dreary  than  her  prison.  Besides,  one 
risked  being  slain  in  '94  in  the  heart  of  Paris.  The  massive 
gates,  jailers,  chains,  and  dogs  of  her  prison  were  so  many 
pledges  of  security,  which  she  now  missed,  and  it  was  some 
time  before  she  could  reconcile  herself  to  her  desolate  and 
cheerless  grandeur. 

There  were  many  touching  episodes  of  that  prison  life  ;  oth 
ers  in  which  ludicrousness  overpowered  every  other  sentiment. 
Hearts  there  were  that  went  cheerfully  to  the  scaffold  rather 
than  avail  themselves  of  an  equivocation  proffered  to  them  by 
the  humanity  of  a  Fouquier  Tinville — wives,  unnamed  in  the 
fatal  list,  who  triumphed  over  the  resistance  of  jailers,  and 

B2 


34  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLED. 

joyfully  laid  down  their  heads  beside  those  of  their  condemned 
husbands.  There  were  bitter  quarrels  between  an  Abbe  St. 
Simon  and  a  provincial  marquis,  whom  Madame  de  Cre'quy 
apostrophizes  with  "  que  Dieu  confonde"  The  two  slept  on  the 
staircase,  the  marquis  being  several  steps  above  the  abbe.  "  It 
was  often  in  the  middle  of  the  night  that  their  disputes  were 
the  most  violent,  because  the  marquis  would  spit  upon  the  head 
of  the  abbe,  who  did  not  wish  to  permit  any  such  liberty." 

One  day  they  passed  in  a  small,  pale  woman,  who  bowed 
as  she  entered,  but  never  spoke  to  any  one  during  the  three 
days  and  nights  she  passed  in  their  chamber.  She  sat  all  that 
time  upon  a  straw  chair,  taking  only  a  few  mouthfuls  of  bread 
and  red  wine,  which  the  jailer  forced  the  "  old  woman  Crequy" 
to  take  to  her.  She  kept  her  eyes  constantly  fixed  upon  a 
box,  which  she  had  placed  upon  another  chair  before  her,  on 
which  she  rested  her  feet.  Although  the  prisoners  were  suf 
fering  greatly  from  cold,  she  incessantly  fanned  herself. 

One  morning  they  missed  her,  but  the  box  remained.  Mad 
ame  Baffot  inquired  of  the  jailer  if  she  would  return.  He 
significantly  replied  by  drawing  his  hand  across  his  neck. 
The  box  was  opened,  and  in  it  found  a  bloody  shirt  from  which 
the  collar  had  been  cut,  a  handful  of  black  hair,  and  a  little 
scrap  of  paper,  on  which  was  written,  *"  For  my  mother"  Noth 
ing  further  was  ever  known  of  either  victim. 

If  we  are  to  pass  judgment  on  a  body  by  the  general  char 
acter  of  its  members,  neither  society  nor  humanity  lost  much 
in  many  of  the  decapitations  of  the  aristocracy  of  this  period. 
They  were  unjustly  condemned  and  barbarously  executed  ; 
consequently,  their  deaths  have  attracted  to  their  fates  a  gen 
erous  sympathy  which  the  general  tenor  of  their  lives  little 
warranted.  A  few  anecdotes  will  illustrate  this  Among  the 
many  so  admirably  told  in  these  memoirs,  it  is  difficult  to  de 
cide  upon  the  best. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES  35 

The  aunt  of  Madame  de  Crequy,  the  Chavonine  Countess 
of  Mauberge,  who  died  at  101  years  of  age  without  experien 
cing  any  infirmities,  called,  in  company  with  a  friend,  upon 
Madame  du  DefFand.  Courtesy  prompted  them  to  inquire  of 
the  health  of  a  dear  friend  of  their  hostess,  then  dangerously 
ill,  but  with  whom  she  had  entertained  intimate  relations  for 
fifteen  years,  in  accordance  with  the  loose  customs  of  the  age 

"  How  is  the  dear  invalid  ?" 

"  Eh !  mon  Dieu !  1  have  but  one  lackey  here  at  this  mo 
ment ;  1  will  send  one  of  my  women  to  demand  the  news," 

"  Madame,  it  rains  in  torrents  ;  I  beg  you  to  make  use  of  my 
coach." 

"  Ah!  you  are  infinitely  good,  and  I  thank  you  a  thousand 
times,"  charmingly  replied  Madame  du  Deffand.  "  Mademoi 
selle,"  said  she  to  her  femme  de  chambre,  "  go  and  learn  news 
of  our  dear  little  invalid.  Madame  the  countess  permits  you 
to  go  in  her  coach  on  account  of  the  rain.  I  am  very  grate 
ful,  and  much  touched,"  continued  she,  "  for  your  interest  in 
my  favorite.  He  is  so  amiable,  lively,  and  caressing.  You 
know  I  am  indebted  to  Madame  du  Chatelet  for  him."  The 
two  callers  looked  in  astonishment  at  each  other  at  a  confi 
dence  so  extraordinary  and  uncalled  for.  At  length  the  car 
riage  returned.  "  Ah  !  how  have  you  found  him  ?" 

"  Madame,  as  well  as  could  be  expected."' 

"  Has  he  eaten  to-day  ?" 

"  He  has  wished  to  amuse  himself  in  biting  an  old  shoe,  but 
M.  Lyonnais  would  not  permit  it."' 

"  Really,"  exclaimed  the  aunt,  "  a  singular  phantasy  of  an 
invalid." 

"But  does  he  walk  yet?"  inquired  Madame  du  DefFand. 

"  As  for  that  I  can  not  tell,  because  he  was  lying  on  a  little 
blue  satin  mattress ;  but  he  knew  me  perfectly  well,  for  he 
wagged  his  tail." 


36  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


"  Monsieur  the  Chevalier  de  Pont-de-Yesle,''  exclaimed  both 
the  amazed  visitors,  '"  wagged  his  tail !" 

'•  Ah,  madames,  it  is  of  my  little  dog  she  speaks.  I  will 
send  to  inquire  immediately  of  the  health  of  M.  de  Pont-de- 
Vesle." 

The  Marechale  de  Noailles  was  an  original  fool,  as  may  be 
readily  credited  from  the  following  examples  of  her  mode  of 
showing  it.  She  maintained  a  correspondence  with  the  Holy 
Virgin  and  the  Patriarchs,  depositing  her  letters  in  a  pigeon 
hole  at  her  hotel,  religiously  believing  that  the  responses  re 
ceived  were  as  authentic  as  her  own  letters. 

She  was  sometimes  a  little  shocked  at  the  tone  of  familiari 
ty  which  the  Holy  Virgin  took  with  her,  "  Ma  chere  Marechale," 
and  at  the  third  line,  said  she,  >vith  a  scornful  air,  "  It  must 
be  allowed  that  the  formula  is  a  little  familiar  on  the  part  of 
a  peasant  woman  of  Nazareth,  but  one  must  not  be  too  ex 
acting  with  the  mother  of  our  1,'a.vior,"  inclining  her  head  as 
she  pronounced  the  name  of  Jesus, ''  and  it  is  to  be  considered 
that  the  husband  of  the  Yirgin  was  of  the  royal  race  of  David." 

She  went  one  day  to  the  high  altar  of  Notre  Dame  to  pray 
that  her  husband  the  duke  might  receive  1 ,800,000  francs  of 
which  he  was  then  in  need,  the  order  of  the  Garter,  and,  final 
ly,  a  diploma  as  prince  of  the  Poly  Roman  Empire,  the  only 
honors  not  in  the  family. 

She  suddenly  heard  a  juvenile  voice  from  the  altar  respond, 
"  Madame  the  marechale,  you  ^  hall  not  have  the  1 ,800,000 
francs  you  ask  for  your  husband  :  he  has  already  100,000 
crowns  rent,  and  that  is  enough  ;  he  is  already  duke  and  peer, 
grandee  of  Spain,  and  Marshal  of  France  ;  he  has  the  collar  of 
the  Holy  Ghost  and  that  of  the  Golden  Fleece  :  your  family  is 
overwhelmed  with  the  gifts  of  the  court.  If  you  are  not  sat 
isfied,  it  is  because  it  is  impossible  to  satisfy  you.  Your 
husband  shall  not  have  the  Garter  of  St.  Geonre." 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  37 

The  lady  not  for  a  moment  doubted  that  the  voice  was  other 
than  that  of  the  infant  Jesus,  who  was  replying  for  his  mother. 
iShe  immediately  called  out,  '*•  Hold  your  tongue,  little  fool,  ana 
let  your  mother  speak."*  It  was  a  page  of  the  queen,  who,  know 
ing  her  folly,  had  hid  himself  behind  the  altar. 

After  the  fall  of  Robespierre,  the  few  remaining  noblesse  is 
sued  from  their  retreats  more  frivolous  and  selfish,  if  possible, 
than  before  the  storm.  Madame  de  la  Reyniere  exclaimed  to 
a  visitor,  "•  How  sorry  I  am  that  the  Viscountess  of  Narbonne 
was  not  guillotined !" 

"  But  why  should  you  wish  such  a  thing  ?" 

"  Ah !  I  demand  nothing  better  than  that  you  should  ask 
my  reasons.  Firstly,  I  am  bored  to  death  by  hearing  her 
spoken  of." 

"  But,  as  she  is  about  the  same  age  as  you,  she  perhaps  has 
the  same  cause  to  reproach  you." 

"  There  is  something  worse  than  that  r  she  was  guilty  of  an 
impertinence  to  me  in  '85,  at  the  Hotel  de  Soubise  ;  1  wish  she 
had  been  massacred  in  the  prisons.  You  know  they  have 
exiled  the  Abbe  d'Albignac.  I  am  glad  of  it,  he  was  so  te 
dious." 

"  How  is  your  son  ?     What  has  become  of  him  in  all  this  ?" 

"  My  son,"  replied  the  other,  gaping,  "  has  his  fortune  apart, 
and  I  have  not  heard  him  spoken  of  for  a  long  time.  When 
God  did  me  the  favor  to  have  the  misfortune  to  lose  Mon 
sieur  de  la  Reyniere,  they  told  me  that  my  son  was  drowned 
at  Nantes,  but  this,  unfortunately,  was  not  true.  You  know 
the  parents  inherit  from  their  children  since  the  Revolution, 
and  as  he  makes  a  bad  use  of  his  fortune,  I  wish  much  to  have 
it  to  myself  alone." 

With  one  more  characteristic  trait  of  the  times,  I  shall  have 
done.  Madame  de  Galissoniere  was  the  principal  heiress  of 
Madame  de  Pompadour.  She  had  for  a  lover  a  M.  Dejenaive. 


38  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

Learning  one  day  of  the  death  of  his  mistress,  lie.  forced  the 
door  of  the  chamber  where  she  was  laid  out,  and  there  discov 
ered  her  corpse  upon  a  table,  in  the  frightful  condition  as  left 
by  the  examining  physicians.  He  threw  himself  upon  it,  pluck 
ed  out  the  heart,  wrapped  it  up  in  his  handkerchief,  put  it  in 
his  pocket,  and  left  the  house  like  a  madman. 

Some  time  after,  in  relating  the  incident  to  Madame  de 
Coislin,  "  Do  you  know  what  became  of  it  ?"  said  he. 

"  No  ;  go  on  ;  you  make  me  shudder." 

u  Ah !  mon  Dieu,  yes !  I  threw  it  down  in  rage  upon  a  trunk 
when  I  entered  my  chamber.  I  went  to  bed  and  slept  to  dis 
tract  my  mind.  The  next  morning  I  saw  that  the  handker 
chief  had  fallen  upon  the  floor.  I  sprang  from  my  bed — my 
dog  had  eaten  it — I  killed  him  with  one  blow  of  a  knife,  but  I 
could  discover  nothing  of  it — nothing  at  all.  1  then  remem 
bered  that  I  had  forgotten  to  feed  him  for  several  days  past. 
What  a  dramatic  and  romantic  adventure,  is  it  not,  madame  ?" 

The  idea  of  the  great  Napoleon  as  a  little,  sniffling,  angry 
urchin,  in  these  after-times  of  his  glory,  strikes  one  as  almost 
incomprehensible.  Yet  Madame  de  Crequy  gives  us  an  anec 
dote  characteristic  both  of  his  temper  and  age.  A  lady  pre 
sented  to  her  Madame  Bonaparte,  "  escorted  by  a  legion  of 
badly-dressed  children." 

"  There  was  in  this  covey  of  Corsican  birds  a  little  boy  who 
wept.  His  eyes  were  very  red,  but  he  appeared  to  swallow  his 
tears.  To  pass  the  time,  I  benevolently  asked  his  mother  the 
reason  of  his  affliction.  '  Madame,'  said  she,  in  a  gruff  voice 
and  awkward  pronunciation, '  he  is  a  monster.'  In  leaving  the 
Bishop  d'Autun,  he  had  refused  to  kiss  the  hand  of  my  lord, 
for  which  his  mother  had  soundly  boxed  his  ears  as  soon  as 
they  had  entered  their  coach."  Madame  de  Crequy  viewed 
the  introduction  of  the  Bonaparte  family  to  her  in  about  as 
amiable  and  condescending  a  mood  as  would  a  "  Fifth  Avenue" 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  39 

dame  an  invasion  of  backwoods  cousins  from.  Arkansaw  into 
her  drawing-rooms  on  a  month's  visit. 

Her  next  interview  with  the  "  petit  gargon"  was  when  he 
was  master  of  the  Tuileries.  The  First  Consul  requested  her 
presence.  She  was  announced  as  the  Citizen  Crequy,  and  at 
once  found  herself  tete-a-tete  with  the  conqueror  of  the  Pyra 
mids. 

"  He  looked  at  me  one  or  two  minutes  with  an  air  of  study, 
which  was  succeeded  by  a  false  air  of  tenderness.  Then  he 
said,  with  an  expression  which  1  call  almost  filial,  *  I  have  de 
sired  to  see  you,  madame  ;'  but  he  soon  retook  a  sufficient  and 
passably  impertinent  tone  :  '  You  are  a  hundred  years  old — 

"  *  Not  quite,  but  nearly.' 

" '  How  old  are  you,  exactly  ?' 

"  I  was  tempted  to  laugh  at  such  an  interrogatory,  and  par 
ticularly  in  such  an  imperative  form.  '  Monsieur,'  I  replied, 
smiling  as  one  smiles  at  my  age,  alas  !  and  perhaps  he  did  not 
perceive  that  I  smiled,  '  I  can  not  tell  my  precise  age.  1  was 
born  in  a  chateau  of  Maine.' 

"  '  Where  do  you  lodge  ?' 

"  'At  the  Hotel  de  Crequy.' 

"  '  The  devil — and  in  what  quarter?' 

"  *  Rue  de  Grenelle.' 

"  '  You  had  commotion  yesterday  in  your  quarter.  Were  you 
afraid?' 

"  '  I  was  not  inquieted.' 

" '  No  emeutes  are  possible  under  my  government — no  se 
rious  emeutes,  but  disturbances,  I  do  not  say.  A  handful  of 
discontented  persons  have  the  air  of  something,  but  it  is  noth 
ing.  Is  it  not  true  ?' 

"  '  Oh,  surely.  Three  women  who  cry  make  more  noise  than 
three  thousand  men  who  hold  their  tongues.' 

"  '  What  you  say  is  very  good — do  you  know  what  you  have 
said  is  very  good  ?' ' 


40  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

In  reply  to  the  question,  "  Have  you  suffered  from  the  revo 
lutionary  decrees  ?"  she  alluded  to  some  landed  property  that 
had  been  confiscated,  which  he  accorded  to  her  with  "  une 
grace  parfaite  ;"  afterward  observing,  with  a  distracted  air, 
''Madame,  to  desire  to  do  good  during  a  revolution  is  to  write 
upon  the  sand  of  the  sea-shore  ;  that  which  escapes  the  winds 
is  effaced  by  the  waves." 

'•  *  Did  you  know  Dubois  and  Cartouche?' 

"  I  looked  at  him  without  replying,  and  so  severely,  that  1 
am  astonished  when  I  recall  it.  He  felt  himself,  apparently, 
that  it  was  bad  taste  to  ask  news  of  Cartouche  of  the  Marquise 
Dowager  of  Crequy  ;  and  he  made  me  a  smile,  so  fine,  so  sweet, 
and  so  frank,  that  I  remained  totally  disarmed. 

" '  Permit  me  to  kiss  your  hand,'  said  he.  I  hastened  to 
draw  off  my  glove.  '  Leave  your  glove,  my  good  mother.' 
added  he,  with  an  air  of  exquisite  solicitude  ;  then  he  applied 
his  lips  strongly  to  the  tips  of  my  poor  centennial  and  decrepit 
fingers,  which  were  uncovered.'' 

"With  all  her  aristocratic  pride  and  prejudice,  she  was  as 
powerless  to  resist  the  fascination  of  manner  of  Napoleon 
when  he  was  in  the  view,  as  were  equally  the  hereditary 
sovereigns  of  Europe,  or  his  own  rough,  republican  generals. 
"  Poor  soldier!"  exclaims  she,  in  the  fullness  of  her  proud  com 
miseration  for  his  low  parentage  ;  "  he  knew  only  the  illus 
trious  names  of  the  illustrious  personages  with  whom  I  had 
passed  my  life  in  this  same  chateau  that  he  uses  as  his  own  ;" 
and  farther  on  the  following  reflection  involuntarily  escapes 
her,  in  mingled  pathos  and  pride  :  "  Alas !  that  to-day  they 
should  give  me  this  high  name  of  Crequy,  which  I  shall  bear 
the  last,  and  which  they  will  soon  write  for  the  last  time  in  a 
dirty  register,  beside  the  names  of  all  the  world,  and  perhaps 
on  the  same  page  with  that  of  a  Merlin  or  of  a  De  Gasparin.'' 

Madame  de  Crequy  died  early  in  1803,  her  exact  age  being 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  41 


unknown,  but  supposed  to  be  not  less  than  one  hundred  years. 
In  the  early  part  of  her  life  her.  health  was  deplorable,  and 
she  purchased  at  alow  price,  for  her  life,  the  hotel  of  the  Mar 
quis  de  Fenquieres,  which  she  occupied  for  seventy  years — 
somewhat  maliciously  boasting  of  her  great  bargain.  The 
"  Journal  des  Debats"  of  15th  of  February,  1803,  says  :  "  Her 
piety  edified  the  disciples  of  the  Gospel ;  her  charity  nourished 
the  poor,  and  even  to  her  last  days  she  preserved,  by  a  spe 
cies  of  miracle,  her  brilliant  imagination,  depth  of  understand 
ing,  freshness  of  memory,  eclat  of  wit,  and  profundity  of  re 
flection,  that  had  always  rendered  her  the  admiration  and 
delight  of  distinguished  men  of  every  class  and  all  countries." 
One  can  not  read  her  memoirs  without  crediting  this  eulogium. 
She  was  a  fine  specimen  of  the  born  and  trained  aristocrat, 
and  as  such  I  can  recommend  her  memoirs  to  my  readers  as  the 
least  exceptionable  and  most  amusing  and  instructive  of  that 
class  of  French  literature.  Generally,  they  are  either  the  stale 
records  of  selfish  intrigues,  or  the  piquant  narratives  of  indi 
vidual  vice  and  heartless  crime,  so  intermingling  truth  with 
falsehood  that  the  reader  often  throws  them  aside  in  perplex 
ity  and  disgust.  Here  we  have,  however,  daguerreotype  like 
nesses  of  an  aristocracy  formed  by  an  education  that,  while  it 
robed  them  with  elegances  of  person,  left  them  destitute  of 
the  graces  of  the  heart.  I  would  exhibit  them  only  as  the 
Hpartans  did  to  their  youth  the  drunken  helots,  as  warnings 
against  an  insidious  mental  vice.  But  with  that  aristocracy 
to  which  I  before  alluded,  which  refines  the  intellect  and  dis 
ciplines  the  heart,  educating  in  happy  balance  and  unison  the 
moral  and  intellectual  sentiments,  creating  among  men  the 
sole  permanent  distinctions  of  goodness  and  greatness,  I  would 
that  our  entire  democratic  lump  was  leavened.  He  who  hap 
pily  combined  the  two  in  one  harmonious  whole  was  WASH 
INGTON. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MATRIMONY,  BOWS,  ETC 

THE  moral  welfare  of  society  hinges  so  closely  upon  the 
greater  or  less  estimation  in  which  marriage  is  held,  that  the 
interest  with  which  this  tie  is  viewed  can  never  be  exclusive 
ly  confined  to  those  "  in  the  market."  This  phrase,  so  sug 
gestive  of  buying  and  selling,  has  acquired  in  fashionable  life, 
even  with  us,  a  positive  significancy.  I  refer  not  to  Circas 
sian  beauty,  sold  by  its  weight.  To  appreciate  my  meaning 
in  its  broad  and  full  Christian  sense,  we  must  turn  to  France. 
There  a  marriage  is  a  literal  matter  of  negotiation,  in  which 
Cupid  has,  in  general,  as  little  to  do  as  in  the  sale  of  a  pony 
or  purchase  of  the  three  per  cents.  Hopeless  is  the  case  of 
the  maiden  without  a  "  dot."  The  indispensable  dowry  stands 
in  lieu  of  charms,  education,  accomplishments,  character,  and 
even  virtue  itself — not  but  that  each  and  all  of  these,  when  to 
be  had,  enhance  the  value  of  the  acquisition.  But  the  first 
article  of  the  matrimonial  creed  in  France  is,  "  I  devoutly  be 
lieve  in  the  '  dot,'  as  the  one  thing  needful  with  a  wife."  If 
the  candidate  probe  farther,  it  is  chiefly  to  ascertain  whether 
there  be  a  scrofulous  taint  or  hereditary  insanity  in  the  family 
of  the  adored  one.  These  matters  satisfactorily  ascertained, 
the  parents  on  either  side  hold  a  congress  to  arrange  settle 
ments  for  the  young  couple,  provide  for  the  exigencies  of  the 
anticipated  generation,  and  to  see  that  the  affairs  of  the  purse 
are  made  smooth  and  straight ;  a  practice  which,  by-the-way, 
if  it  were  more  often  imitated  here,  would  spare  much  of  the 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  43 

misery  arising  from  the  thoughtless  and  hasty  manner  in  which 
many  American  marriages  are  made.  It  often  happens  that 
the  swain,  beyond  a  family  name  or  social  position,  has  noth 
ing  to  recommend  him  besides  the  experience  of  nearly  three 
score  years,  a  well-preserved  figure,  and  an  empty  purse.  He 
has  arrived  at  a  condition  in  his  fortune  when  a  dowry  of  five 
hundred  thousand  francs  becomes  a  consummation  devoutly  to 
be  hoped  for.  His  familiar  starts  such  a  one  with  the  'sagacity 
of  a  trained  pointer  Negotiations  are  commenced,  and  the 
first  time  that  "  sweet  sixteen"  may  see  her  partner  for  life 
is  when  he  is  presented  as  her  prospective  husband.  Mamma 
and  papa  have  arranged  it  all.  An  old  man,  with  nothing  but 
his  bank-notes  to  recommend  him,  will  sometimes  buy  a  young 
girl ;  but  he  seldom  has  occasion  to  congratulate  himself  on 
his  purchase.  I  am  now  speaking  of  the  general  rule.  There 
are  exceptions,  of  course  ;  and  faithful  couples,  and  happy  do 
mestic  circles,  are  not  rare  in  France.  Love,  in  the  .American 
sense,  is,  however,  a  very  minor  consideration. 

Now  it  would  be  requiring  too  much  of  human  nature  to 
expect  it  to  rise  above  its  own  standard  of  action.  The  cor 
rupt  tree  must  bring  forth  corrupt  fruit.  So,  where  the  prin 
ciple  of  marriage  is  mainly  a  compound  of  pecuniary  gain, 
social  distinction,  or  selfish  desire,  the  active  result  must  be 
equally  a  compound  of  prodigality  or  meanness,  pride  or  van 
ity,  lust  or  epicurism,  leavened  with  tyranny  on  one  side  and 
deceit  on  the  other.  This  applies  more  particularly  to  the  up 
per  rounds  of  the  social  ladder.  As  we  descend,  the  marriage 
principle  partakes  more  of  the  practical  requirements  of  a  busi 
ness  copartnership  ;  to  the  benefits  of  which  the  female,  if  she 
can  not  bring  a  cash  capital,  must  contribute  untiring  muscles 
and  indefatigable  industry.  Not  the  tidy,  home  labor  of  the 
American  female,  whose  greatest  penance  is  a  wash-tub,  but 
a  downright  junior-partnership  division  of  out-door  work,  shop- 


44 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


tending,  book-keeping,  and  merchandise-buying,  in  addition  to 
baby-raising  and  housekeeping  labors.  Whether  from  her  su 
perior  energies,  or  the  lordly  laziness  of  her  mate  or  not,  it  is 
difficult  to  decide,  but  certain  it  is  that  she  invariably  becomes 
the  "  man"  of  these  "  menages,"  and  daring  must  be  the  French 
man  who  would  openly  act  within  the  articles  of  this  copart 
nership  upon  his  sole  responsibility. 

What  unfledged  traveler  has  ever  been  proof  against  the  ir 
resistible  arguments  of  these  trading  syrens,  until  his  experi 
ences  in  shopping  have  convinced  him  that  a  hundred  francs 
for  an  article  he  did  not  want,  and  which  was  not  worth  as 
many  sous,  was  too  dear,  even  with  the  fascinating  smile  and 
oily  "  but  this  agrees  so  nicely  with  Monsieur's  charming  fig 
ure,"  or  "  fits  exactly  Monsieur's  little  hand,"  thrown  in.  They 
have  a  way  of  sliding  in  a  side  compliment  in  a  remark  to 
Madame,  if  she  be  with  you,  or,  for  want  of  a  better  bait,  to 
their  own  husbands,  that  is  sure  to  tell  upon  a  John  Bull  just 
over,  and  seldom  fails  to  be  as  effective  on  more  cautious  Jon 
athan.  What  chance,  then,  has  an  Asiatic,  with  his  Eastern 


JUST   THE    THING. 


notions  of  female  seclusion  about  him,  to  escape  the  wiles  of 
these  infidel  houris  ? 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES 


45 


Now  marriage  in  France  is  far  from  being,  as  with  us,  a 
mere  nod  and  its  echo  by  a  man  and  woman  before  a  justice 
of  the  peace,  a  few  commonplace  words,  and  an  engagement 
for  life  concluded  with  less  trouble  than  the  buying  of  a  rail 
road  ticket ;  but  it  is  a  serious  and  expensive  affair.  First, 
the  bans  must  be  duly  published  in  the  journals  for  several 
weeks  ;  then,  on  the  day  appointed,  the  parties  and  a  troop  of 
friends  go  before  the  mayor  of  their  arrondissement,  where  the 
knot  is  civilly  tied ;  from  thence  to  the  church,  where,  with 


THE    CIVIL    MARRIAGE. 


religious  pomp  in  proportion  to  the  promised  fee,  the  knot  is 
retied,  blessed,  and  sanctified  by  the  priest.  The  kissing  and 
congratulations  completed,  the  wedding  party  adjourn  to  spend 
the  night  in  dancing  and  festivity. 

This  over,  the  parties  have  entered  upon  a  marriage  that 
would  drive  a  Fourierite  or  a  Sandite  to  despair.     The  church 


46  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


TtfE    ECCLESIASTICAL    MARRIAGE 


having  become  a  party  to  the  contract,  it  is  forever  indissolu 
ble.  The  most  stringent  causes  have  no  more  weight  than 
the  lightest  distastes.  Madame,  your  wife,  is  madarne,  your 
wife,  until  she  is  accommodating  enough  to  take  up  her  resi 
dence  in  perpetuity  at  Pere  le  Chaise.  Money  and  influence 
may  at  times  procure  a  separation  of  beds  and  chattels,  but 
nothing  more.  The  result  of  so  fixed  a  yoke  would,  in  a  more 
moral  country,  with  many  couples,  lead  to  incalculable  private 
unhappiness  ;  but  the  French  have  a  way  of  lightening  do 
mestic  loads,  procuring  congenial  sympathies,  and  assuming  a 
philosophical  blindness  to  each  other's  frailties,  that  goes  far 
to  ward  off  connubial  chafing.  As  I  do  not  think  the  secret 
would  benefit  my  countrywomen,  I  shall  not  disclose  it. 

The  Code  Napoleon  allowed  considerable  latitude  for  di 
vorce,  but  so  hedged  in  with  restrictions  that  it  could  not  pro- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  47 

duce  evil,  if  fairly  applied  ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  it  did 
away  with  many  present  temptations  to  immoral  connections. 
At  the  Restoration,  the  laws  permitting  divorce  were  abro 
gated.  Repeated  but  vain  attempts  have  been  made  since  to 
reintroduce  them  into  the  Code.  It  remains  to  be  seen  whether 
the  nephew,  in  his  revival  of  the  institutions  of  his  uncle,  will 
revive  these. 

No  institution  has  been  more  the  foot-ball  of  French  legis 
lation,  since  1791,  than  that  of  marriage.  Fouche,  when  he 
was  in  the  department  of  the  Nievre,  instituted  a  fete  in  honor 
of  Nature  and  the  Republican  Hymen.  He  gathered  together 
four  hundred  youths  of  each  sex,  most  of  whom  had  never 
seen  each  other  before,  upon  a  meadow  on  the  banks  of  the 
Loire.  At  one  o'clock  he  appeared,  costumed  as  the  high- 
priest  of  Nature,  surrounded  by  a  cortege  of  sans  culottes,  pre 
ceded  by  a  band  of  music. 

"  Young  citizens,"  cried  he,  u  commence  by  choosing  each 
of  you  a  wife  from  these  modest  virgins." 

Immediately  fifteen  or  twenty  precipitated  themselves  upon 
a  pretty  girl  of  Donzy,  whose  father  was  well  known  to  be  a 
wealthy  cabinet-maker.  On  her  part,  she  resisted  stoutly, 
weeping,  and  refusing  to  listen  to  any  of  her  admirers,  because 
she  loved  tenderly  an  absent  cousin. 

As  might  be  supposed,  this  matrimonial  battle  produced  lit 
tle  satisfaction  and  still  less  harmony.  The  preferences  of 
the  young  men  and  girls  did  not  always  correspond.  It  soon 
became  a  contest  between  natural  liberty  and  individual 
choice.  The  troops  were  obliged  to  interfere  and  separate 
the  disputants.  They  were  then  divided  into  two  columns, 
and  paired  off  as  chance  had  placed  them,  according  to  their 
numbers,  thus  for  once  realizing  for  marriage  that  it  was  but 
a  lottery.  The  ceremony  terminated  with  a  grand  supper 
spread  upon  the  "  plain  of  equality  "  The  husband  to  whom 


48  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

the  pretty  girl  of  Donzy  was  allotted  became  afterward  a  rich 
republican  general. 

This  gratuitous  distribution  of  wives  reminds  me  of  an  an 
ecdote  of  the  times  illustrative  of  the  opposite  principle — of 
taking  away  what  one  hath.  It  might  have  been  supposed 
that  a  name  innocently  handed  down  from  father  to  son  would 
have  been  left  untouched  by  the  republican  shears.  But  no. 
After  the  sublime  deess,  Reason,  usurped  the  place  of  the  Holy 
Virgin  in  the  churches,  it  was  forbidden  to  make  use  of  the 
word  "  saint,"  or  to  attach  the  aristocratic  "  de"  to  family 
names.  A  Mr.  Saint  Denis  was  called  before  the  section  of 
Guillaume  Tell,  and  interrogated  firstly  as  to  his  name. 

"  I  am  called  Saint."  "  But  there  are  no  longer  any  '  saints.'" 
"  Then  I  am  DC."  "  But  there  are  no  '  de's.'  "  "  Then  I  must 
call  myself  'Nis.'  Mr.  IN  is,  at  your  service,  since  you  leave 
me  nothing  more." 

Modesty  has  a  widely  different  signification  in  France  from 
the  United  States.  Since  the  putting  of  pantalets  upon  the 
legs  of  a  piano  has  ceased  to  be  the  apocryphal  story  of  a  cyn 
ical  John  Bull,  the  modesty  of  American  ladies  stands  upon 
the  very  apex  of  refinement.  Even  in  London,  I  have  met 
one — she  was  from  the  West,  however,  and  of  excellent  sense 
in  other  particulars — who  talked  to  me  some  time  about  the 
"  limbs"  of  a  fine  babe  in  her  arms,  before  I  discovered  that  it 
was  his  fat  legs  she  was  commending. 

I  do  not  wish  to  be  considered  as  depreciating  American 
modesty,  even  if  mawkishly  exhibited,  as  the  excess  is  on  the 
side  of  virtue.  Among  French  women  there  is  a  plainness  of 
speech  in  all  points  that  conveys  the  exact  truth  upon  any  sub 
ject  without  the  slightest  circumlocution.  They  assume  no 
disguise  to  their  meanings.  Even  when  a  little  sentiment 
would  be  a  decided  and  welcome  embellishment,  it  is  ruth 
lessly  thrust  aside.  I  have  heard  in  society  remarks  from  la- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  49 

dies  of  rank,  that  elsewhere  would  have  startled  me  ;  and  yet 
here  custom  disrobes  them  of  all  impropriety.  Still,  I  think, 
for  the  sake  of  the  high-toned  sentiment  a  man  of  refinement 
would  ever  cherish  toward  the  sex  that  bestows  upon  him  his 
purest  pleasures  and  associations,  a  little  more  of  social  poetry, 
or  prudery,  as  some  would  ungallantly  term  it,  would  be  wel 
come  even  in  France.  While  such  liberties  are  taken  with 
the  tongue,  there  is  more  outward  show  of  modesty  in  the  in 
tercourse  of  the  sexes  than  with  us.  The  same  ladies,  whose 
lips  tripped  not  over  any  description  or  allusion,  were  really 
shocked  when  I  told  them  that  at  our  fashionable  ocean  re 
treats  it  is  customary  for  men  and  women  promiscuously  to 
bathe.  For  a  young  couple  to  ride  or  walk  together,  unattend 
ed  by  a  near  relative,  would  be  an  unpardonable  indecorum 

On  a  rainy  day  a  French  wom 
an  of  any  rank  hesitates  not,  if 
necessary  to  save  her  skirts,  to 
expose  her  legs  as  freely  as  her 
arms.  It  is  really  astonishing  to 
see  with  what  grace  and  purity 
they  will  carry  their  hose  and 
linen  over  the  muddiest  ways. 
Each  is  of  the  finest  character 
and  most  elaborately  finished,  so  that  not  even  a  bachelor  of 
flinty  threescore  can  look  upon  these  adroit  walkers  with  un- 
admiring  eyes. 

To  return  to  my  original  topic,  marriage.  The  following 
extract  from  a  journal,  furnished  me  by  no  matter  whom,  will 
explain  admirably  some  of  my  preceding  views. 

"  I  have  been  married  since  the  20th  of  January,  185-,  that 
is  to  say,  about  fifteen  days.  Mon  Dieu  !"  (French  women  of 
every  quality  are  given  to  exclamations  which  their  more 
sensitive  American  sisters  would  term  "  swearing1, "but  which, 

C 


50  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

after  all,  are  as  innocently  intentioned  as  any  puritanical  "  good 
gracious!"  or  "bless  me!")  "what  a  change  has  so  short  a 
time  wrought  in  my  ideas !  Is  it  I  who  am  wrong,  or  is  it 
marriage  ?  I  do  not  know.  Here  are  my  impressions.  May 
it  please  Heaven  that  I  do  not  become  deranged  in  recording 
them  upon  paper. 

" '  Marriage,'  said  my  schoolmates  to  me, '  is  the  realization 
of  our  most  poetic  dreams  ;  the  tender  sentiments  felt  at  the 
sight  of  a  young  man,  the  inquietudes  thus  we  experience  at 
the  return  of  spring  time,  or  the  rising  of  the  moon  behind  the 
acacias  ;  the  necessity  of  weeping  without  a  motive  that  so 
often  seizes  upon  us — all  these  emotions,'  said  they,  '  explain 
themselves  in  marriage.  The  soul  divines  in  this  word  the 
enigma.'  So  I  left  my  boarding-school. 

"  I  said  to  myself,  without  being  quite  as  romantic  as  my 
young  companions,  '  It  is  not  possible  that  my  parents  have 
kept  me  ten  years  at  school,  that  they  have  had  me  taught  Ital 
ian,  German,  English,  music,  singing,  design,  painting,  litera 
ture,  and  dancing,  to  marry  a  man  who  does  not  love  the  arts.' 

"  The  day  after  leaving  my  school,  my  mother  said  to  me, 
'  You  will  marry  a  rich  paint-merchant  of Street.' 

"  My  first  question  was,  '  Does  he  know  music  ?'  '  I  tell 
you,'  replied  my  mother,  'that  he  is  a  paint-merchant.' 

"  Eight  days  after,  they  led  me  to  the  mayor's  office  for  the 
civil  rite,  thence  to  the  church  for  the  religious  ceremony.  It 
was  the  first  time  but  one  that  I  had  seen  rny  husband— 

"  I  have  just  been  interrupted  by  one  of  his  customers,  who 
ordered  from  me  fifty  pounds  of  putty,  a  barrel  of  verdigris, 
two  casks  of  glue,  twenty  pounds  of  sulphur,  and  two  papers 
of  asafoBtida. 

"  After  having  washed  my  hands  fifty  times  without  de 
stroying  the  odors  of  the  above  fragrant  merchandise,  I  retake 
my  pen  to  continue  my  married  experience. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


"'My  friend,'  said  I  to 
him  at  the  end  of  eight  days, 
'  will  you  buy  me  a  piano  ?' 
'  What  for  V  inquired  he  of 
me :  '  how  much  does  one 
cost?'  'Twelve  hundred 
francs.'  '  Twelve  hundred 
francs!'  exclaimed  he,  in 
amazement :  '  I  prefer  with 
that  money  to  buy  whale 
oil,  and  wait  a  rise.  Be 
sides,  a  married  woman 
never  touches  a  piano.' 

"  I  submit. 

"  Another  interruption — 
my  husband  awakes. 

" '  What  are  you  reading 
there  ?'  he  called  out,  with  considerable  anger  in  his  tone  ; 
'  do  you  read  in  the  shop  ?  There  is  always  something  to  do 
here — put  on  the  labels — pack — measure — weigh.'  *  All  is 
done,  my  friend,'  I  replied.  '  What  book  is  that  ?'  '  The  po 
ems  of  Ossian,  the  son  of  Fingal.'  '  You  know  English,  then?' 
'  Yes,  my  friend.'  '  You  know  every  thing,  then,'  and  he  turned 
his  back  upon  me,  sneering. 

"  I  resign  myself. 

"  Habitude,  submission,  and  resignation  are,  I  know,  the 
graces,  the  three  theological  virtues  of  marriage.  I  know  that 
I  shall  perform  my  duties  so  as  to  please  even  my  husband. 

"  But  why,  I  ask,  do  they  teach  young  girls  so  many  things 
that  later  only  inspire  them  with  regret  that  they  have  learned 
them  ?  Why  not  educate  them  to  be  the  wives  of  paint-mer 
chants,  grocers,  butchers,  &c.  ?" 

This  is  no  romance,  but  the  actual  experience  of  thousands 


MONSIEUR. 


52  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


of  well-educated,  refined,  and  sentimental  misses  in  France. 
Is  it  strange  that  they  should  ripen  into  the  practical,  unpoet- 
ical,  manoeuvring,  hard-working,  but  pleasure-loving  women 
we  so  often  find  there  ?  Freshness  of  features  and  delicacy 
of  outline  they  certainly  lose,  but  courtesy  of  speech  ever 
abides  with  them.  The  domestic  heart  that  lightens  up  a 
home — what  becomes  of  it  ?  Home  !  in  English  a  word  ex 
pressive  of  every  tender  and  true  emotion — the  concentration 
of  the  joys  of  life — in  French  is  simply  "  chez-moi."  Not,  as 
with  us,  a  combination  of  I's,  forming  a  harmonious  unity  un 
der  a  loved  roof,  each  contributing  to  the  general  stock  of  hap 
piness  from  his  own  overflowing  affections  ;  the  family  holy 
of  holies,  sacred  from  the  stranger's  eye,  overshadowed  by 
cherub  and  seraph,  from  whose  hearts  constantly  ascends  the 
incense  of  peace  and  love,  but  a  spot  wherein  the  individual 
"  moi"  may  be  located,  sometimes  where  he  sleeps,  oftener 
where  he  eats ;  on  the  boulevard,  in  the  restaurant,  sipping 
black  coffee  and  drinking  clear  brandy,  on  a  sidewalk  in  front 
of  his  cafe  ;  in  short,  wherever  the  individual  Frenchman  finds 
it  most  for  his  individual  pleasure  to  be.  You  might  as  well 
try  to  locate  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  or  to  keep  stationary  a  fire-fly, 
as  to  fix  upon  a  Frenchman's  home.  It  is  wherever  he  shines 
brightest  or  dazzles  most.  His  pleasures  consist  in  the  outer 
life — the  external  gilding  ;  bright  and  beautiful  without,  but, 
like  gold-leaf,  often  covering  what  is  decayed  arid  hollow 
within.  In  short,  "  home"  and  "  chez-moi"  are  the  social  an 
tipodes. 

I  have  again  thrust  my  hand  into  my  roll  of  life-experiences, 
and  drawn  out  Lisette's  letter  to  Juana.  How  I  came  by  this, 
and  other  equally  instructive  epistles,  is  mine  and  not  the  read 
er's  business.  If  he  be  a  Yankee,  let  him  fall  back  upon  his 
birthright  of  guessing.  Suffice  it,  that  they  not  only  tell  the 
truth  in  these  individual  instances,  but  echo  the  half-acknowl- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  r,3 

edged  truth  from  myriads  similarly  conditioned.  If  parents 
barter  their  daughters  for  a  position,  they  need  not  he  sur 
prised  if  the  connubial  tree  ripens  rebellion  and  hypocrisy  on 
one  side,  and  suspicion  and  severity  on  the  other.  But  in 
France,  these  fruits,  so  bitter  and  choking  within,  are  without 
like  the  apples  that  grow  on  the  borders  of  the  sea  of  Sodom, 
very  fair  to  behold. 

Lisette  was,  in  the  youthful  days  of  her  marriage,  as  sub 
missive,  sad,  and  sensitive  as  the  paint-merchant's  bride. 
Time  and  trial,  however,  have  made  her  worldly-wise  and 
wondrous  cunning.  Her  husband,  a  wealthy  bourgeois,  judges 
women  by  his  own  weaknesses.  It  would  require  a  strong 
necessity  to  deprive  him  of  any  of  his  favorite  gratifications. 
His  own  deficiencies  he  seeks  to  counterbalance  in  the  forced 
self-denials  of  his  wife — a  species  of  vicarious  expiation  of 
male  sins  common  to  matrimony  ever  since  the  discovery  has 
been  made  that  the  twain  are  not  one.  Now  Lisette  is  afraid 
of  her  husband,  and  so  outwits  him.  Show  me  the  woman  in 
whom  deception  is  not  the  twin  of  fear.  Husbands,  make  a 
note  of  this — root  it  out,  transplant  to  its  place  confidence  ;  so 
shall  he  have  love  and  peace. 

"  DEAR  JUANA, — My  bear  is  gone  ;  now  we  can  amuse  our 
selves  under  a  free  sky.  God  be  praised,  I  am  free.  To 
crown  my  felicity,  my  two  grenadiers  of  daughters  have  gone 
back  to  their  boarding-school  this  morning.  Do  you  know, 
it  is  not  always  agreeable  to  have  by  one's  side,  every  where 
one  goes,  two  great  registers  of  birth,  plainly  declaring, 
Mamma  should  be  from  thirty  to  thirty-five.  '  I  tell  you,' 
adds  some  charitable  soul,  '  that  she  is  thirty-seven.  Calcu 
late  !  She  was  married  at  twenty-four.'  To  cut  short  all  such 
assassins,  I  have  cloistered  these  two  misses.  It  is  a  year 
gained. 


54  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

"  The  first  use  I  shall  make  of  my  liberty  is  to  read  the 
novel  which  has  been  the  rage  for  six  months.  My  husband 
has  excited  in  me  an  irresistible  desire  to  know  more  of  it, 
from  saying  '  I  forbid  you  to  read  it — it  is  stupid  and  immoral.' 
At  length  I  shall  read  this  book.  I  will  tell  you  if  it  is  as  full 
of  points  as  they  say. 

"  Now  or  never,  we  can  go  to  the  little  theatres — another 
antipathy  of  my  bear. 

"  Take  a  box  for  to-morrow,  I  beg  you.  We  will  go  together 
to  see  the  Bohemians  of  Paris.  I  have  read  in  a  newspaper 
that  it  is  full  of  robbers,  monsters,  and  kidnappers,  that  make 
their  victims  disappear  through  trap-doors.  Secure,  by  all 
means,  a  stage-box. 

"  You  asked  me  the  other  day,  in  an  excess  of  bad-humor, 
in  what  I  made  consist  earthly  happiness.  I  understood  you, 
my  poor  Juana.  Happiness  often  consists,  not  in  possessing 
what  we  have  not,  but  in  ceasing  to  possess  what  we  have. 
Your  happiness  would  be,  perhaps,  oh  misery  !  in  becoming  a 
widow.  I  do  not  say  that  you  wish  the  death  of  your  husband. 
That  is  no  more  your  wish  than  mine,  although  our  positions 
are  so  similar.  But  you  and  I  can  perceive  the  delight  of  be 
ing  free  with  the  experience  we  have  acquired.  How  one 
could  respire,  with  a  full-drawn  breath  in  escaping  from  the 
prisons  of  the  conjugal  yoke,  to  enter  into  the  paradise  of  wid 
owhood  !  Widow  !  widow  !  that  word  breathes  liberty  !  One 
then  can  go  where  they  wish,  see  whom  they  wish,  go  out 
when  they  wish,  and  return  when  they  wish.  How  charming  ! 
Is  not  such  a  condition,  for  a  woman,  the  happiest  of  all  social 
positions,  dear  Juana  ? 

"  Patience,  sweet  friend  ;  in  waiting,  let  us  take  all  the 
pleasure  we  can  during  the  absence  of  my  husband,  an  ex 
cellent  man  nt  bottom,  and  of  whom  I  have  nothing  to  com 
plain,  and  tho  sickness  of  yours,  who  is  tiresomely  long  in  his 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  55 


illness.     Say  to  him  a  thousand  amiable  things  on  rny  part. 
Adieu.     Don't  forget  the  novel  and  the  box  at  the  theatre. 
"Tafidele,  LISETTE." 


The  contrast  between  the  staid  recognition  of  street  friends 
in  America,  with  the  succession  of  deep  and  diversified  salu 
tations  which  precede  a  conversation  in  the  public  places  of 
Paris,  is  very  striking  to  one  accustomed  only  to  the  former, 
or  the  angular,  undignified  elbow-jerk,  or  finger  lifted  to  the 
hat,  which  pass  for  bows  among  Anglo-Saxons.  The  latter 
might  well,  in  view  of  the  ceremonious  pantomime  of  the  Pa 
risians,  come  to  the  same  conclusion  as  did  the  Chevalier  Ma- 
rin  three  centuries  since,  that  "  in  France  all  conversation  com 
menced  with  a  ballet."  It  frequently  does  with  a  hug  which 
would  do  honor  to  Bruin,  and  a  succession  of  kisses  on  each 
cheek  that  explode  like  warm  soda-water.  It  is  a  curiosity  to 
an  American  to  see  two  huge  Frenchmen,  whiskered  and  mus- 
tached  to  an  extent  that  would  set  up  half  a  dozen  Hungarian 
refugees  in  face-hair,  rush  like  two  meteors,  from  opposite 
sides  of  the  street,  into  each  other's  arms,  kissing  each  other 
with  the  rapidity  of  platoon  firing  on  a  field-day.  As  a  gallant 
man,  he  would  consider  it  a  shameful  waste  of  the  raw  mate 
rial,  and  think  gratefully  of  his  mamma,  who  taught  him  to 
reserve  all  such  demonstrations  of  affection  for  his  sisters  and 
sweetheart.  If  he  wish  to  obtain  a  correct  idea  of  the  con 
fusion  of  tongues  at  Babel  before  the  confusion  became  con 
founded,  let  him  stop  and  hear  them  talk.  Of  what  use  ears 
are  to  an  excited  Frenchman  naturalists  have  yet  to  discover. 
At  the  same  time,  we  would  have  them  extend  their  iipvesti- 
gations  into  the  flexibility  of  a  French  tongue  as  compared 
with  an  English  organ  of  speech.  It  would  be  curious  to  de 
termine  the  exact  difference  between  the  two. 

But  to  return  to  the  flexibility  of  the  back,  or,  in  other  words, 


59  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLED 


to  the  little  street  ballets  of  which  we  just  spoke.  From  the 
diversities  of  style  in  salutation  we  can  learn  not  a  little  of  the 
history  of  Parisian  society.  The  profound,  triplicate  saluta 
tion,  so  difficult  withal,  and  yet  so  graceful,  which  M.  Jourdain 
in  vain  labored  to  attain  from  his  "  maitre  de  danse,"'  with  its 
exaggeration  of  compliment :  "  Beautiful  marquise,  your  be-  , 
witching  eyes  make  me  die  of  love,"  has  passed  away  with 
the  revolution  of  '93.  It  was  well  it  did,  for  it  required  the 
agility  and  muscle  of  a  rope-dancer  to  preserve  at  once  one's 
politeness  and  equilibrium.  We  have,  however,  a  series  of 
bows  in  the  social  ladder,  from  that  of  the  Marshal  of  France 
to  the  gamin  of  the  quartier  St.  Antoine,  worthy  of  the  study 
of  a  connoisseur  of  manners.  We  have  caught  a  few  as  they 
passed  on  the  side-walk,  and  transferred  them  to  our  menage 
rie  of  Sights  and  Principles 

Here  we  have  the  bow  AUDACIOUS  :   this  is  the  fate  of  every 

lady  who  has  the  cour 
age  to  walk  the  streets 
of  Paris  unattended  by 
a  gentleman.  Not  that 
she  need  fear  open  in 
sult  or  positive  rude 
ness  ;  but  it  is  the  uni 
versal  experience  of 
womankind  in  Paris,  whether  with  or  without  pretensions  to 
youth  and  beauty,  to  receive  in  the  street  equivocal  compli 
ments  from  the  male  sex.  All  this  may  seem,  and  is  undoubt 
edly,  very  rude  ;  nevertheless,  it  is  very  common.  The  slight 
est  ^otice  would  draw  further  attention  from  these  experi 
enced  roues,  while  a  correct  and  cool  deportment  is  always 
sure  to  command  respect  and  forbearance  when  they  discover 
their  mistake.  They  view  the  streets  of  Paris  as  the  poacher 
floes  the  seignorial  shooting-grounds — as  a  great  game  range, 


GALLANT,  AND  NOT   UNCOMMON. 


UNQUIET — MISERABLE. 


GOOD-NATURED — INSULTING — BENEVOLENT — COLD — HUMILIATING — HUMBLE. 


58  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


in  which  they  are  willing  to  risk  being  shot  for  the  sake  of 
occasionally  pocketing  a  bird. 

While  upon  this  topic,  an  anecdote  charmingly  illustrative 
and  delightfully  piquant  occurs  to  me.  The  lady  was  not  hand 
some,  middle-aged,  a  prude,  yet  prompted  by  vanity  to  con 
strue  as  gallantry  such  attentions  as  fell  in  her  way.  As  she 
enjoyed  the  reputation  of  piety,  she  replied  to  her  supposed 
tempters  by  quotations  from  Holy  Writ,  and  general  axioms  on 
the  beauty  of  virtue  and  naughtiness  of  vice.  A  gentleman, 
who,  by  the  way,  was  half  crazy,  but  sane  enough  to  appreciate 
her  weakness,  wrote  to  her  repeatedly,  desiring  an  interview, 
as  he  had  something  of  importance  to  communicate.  Her 
waggish  friends  suggested  that  it  must  be  a  person  of  rank 
desperately  enamored  of  her.  She  accordingly  planned  at 
once  her  revenge  and  deliverance  from  his  amorous  persecu 
tions.  Putting  on  her  most  attractive  dress,  she  curled  her 
hair  anew,  and  laid  in  fresh  stock  of  moral  precepts  and  irre 
sistible  arguments,  taking  care  to  have  her  friends  in  ambush 
to  witness  her  triumph. 

Her  visitor  was  announced,  punctual  to  her  appointment. 
He  was  not  less  than  sixty,  and  with  a  wandering  eye  that  be 
tokened  an  eccentric  brain.  "  Madame,"  said  he,  abruptly, 
"  I  have  a  declaration  to  make  to  you.  I  wish  to  inform  you 
of  something  I  deem  necessary  for  you  to  know.  Have  the 
goodness  not  to  interrupt  me,  Madame,  because  I  have  come 
here  to  render  you  a  service.  I  have  seen,  ah  !  le  diable  !  the 
strange  figures  of  valetudinarians,  sick  people,  convalescent, 
and  the  dying  at  the  mineral  waters.  How  drolly  they  dress 
when  they  bathe  ;  they  have  the  most  inconceivable  head 
dresses  and  outrageous  robes — "  '•  But,  sir,  what  interest  can 
I  take —  "  Madame,  you  are  continually  interrupting  me. 
Stop — you  may  believe  me  if  you  will,  but  I  give  you  my  word 
that  T  have  never  seen  any  woman  so  singularly,  and,  permit 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  59 


me  to  add,  so  badly  dressed  as  you  are."  "  Leave  me,  sir  :  you 
are  a  fool."  "  Not  at  all,  Madame  ;  and  I  have  come  here  to 
counsel  you  not  to  coiffure  yourself,  nor  dress  any  more  after 
such  a  horrible  manner.  All  the  expense  of  your  toilet  is 
money  lost."  By  this  time  Madame  was  speechless  with  rage 
and  mortification.  It  required  considerable  address  on  the 
part  of  her  friends  to  persuade  the  critic  to  leave,  which  he  at 
last  did,  comforting  her  with  the  parting  assurance  that  her 
figure  was  too  gross  and  common  to  have  any  pretensions  to 
elegance. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    BOULEVARDS    AND    BATHS    OF    PARIS. 

THE  Boulevards  of  Paris  may  be  compared  to  the  beautiful 
setting  of  a  valuable  gem.  Along  their  circuitous  course  cir 
culates  the  gay  and  brilliant  life  of  this  sparkling  metropolis. 
Not  that  these  celebrated  avenues  are  uniformly  fashionable, 
although  uniformly  broad  and  spacious,  shaded  with  trees,  and 
bounded  on  either  side  by  buildings  whose  architectural  beau 
ties  might  well  excite  the  envy  of  less  favored  capitals.  Com 
mencing  at  the  gentra!  point  of  attraction,  the  Madeleine,  they 


THE  MADELEINE. 


stretch  away  on  thoir  winding  ponrso  around  what  constituted 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  (il 


the  city  of  the  "•  well-beloved"  Louis,  at  every  turn  baptized 
anew  with  names  that  have  now  grown  classical,  sweeping 
over  the  site  of  the  Bastile  southerly,  then  westerly  encircling 
the  Latin  (duarter,  the  Luxembourg,  and  the  Faubourg  St. 
Germain,  sidling  by  the  Invalides  until  they  are  arrested  by 
the  Seine  and  Champs  Elyse'es,  which  separate  them  from  the 
spot  whence  we  started.  Condensed  within  this  circuit  are 
the  extremes  of  all  that  makes  life  desirable  or  burdensome  : 
wealth  that  would  astonish  Crcesus,  luxury  that  would  have 
driven  Lucullus  to  despair,  and  misery  sufficient  to  people  hell 
with  woe.  It  is  not  of  the  interior  of  this  labyrinth  of  stone 
and  flesh  that  I  would  now  write,  for  it  would  require  more 
works  than  Omar  burned  to  record  its  history,  but  merely  to 
invite  the  reader  to  follow  me  in  a  hasty  drive  around  that 
portion  of  the  Boulevards  where  he  will  find  most  to  amuse 
and  bewilder.  Failing  as  words  must  be  to  convey  a  da 
guerreotype  sketch  of  this  varied  scene,  1  have  pressed  into 
my  service  wherewithal  to  aid  the  reader's  imagination  and 
supply  my  deficiency  ;  for  if  there  are  some  scenes  in  nature 
whose  beauty  requires  the  aid  of  canvas  to  convey  them  to  the 
brain,  there  are  others  of  stirring  humanity  so  complex  and 
artificial  as  to  equally  baffle  all  verbal  description. 

Americans,  fresh  from  New  York,  are  prone  to  institute  a 
comparison,  particularly  in  width,  between  Broadway  and  the 
Boulevards.  The  former  is  certainly  a  very  respectable  ave 
nue,  fringed  with  many  fine  buildings,  and  as  noisy,  dirty,  and 
confused  as  the  most  devoted  Gothamite  could  desire.  Such 
diversity  in  costume  and  show  in  equipage  as  republican  sim 
plicity  or  aristocratic  taste  admit,  are  to  be  seen  here.  Female 
beauty  and  vanity,  and  male  coxcombry,  have  chosen  it  for 
their  favorite  kingdom  ;  rags  and  mendicity  dog  their  steps 
and  haunt  its  corners.  The  shops  are  rich  in  display,  but  lack 
ing  in  taste,  and  there  is  a  universal  hurrv,  roar  of  omnibuses, 


62  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES 


rush  of  pedestrians,  dust  in  dry  weather,  and  mud  in  wet 
weather,  that  makes  the  denizen  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  or  the 
rural  citizen  as  much  rejoiced  to  escape  from  its  whirl,  as  the 
seaman  of  Norway  from  the  perilous  Maelstrom  of  his  inhos 
pitable  coast.  To  saunter  in  Broadway  is  out  of  the  question 
A  walk  is  but  a  succession  of  jostlmgs,  elbow-chafings,  or  a 
hoisting  and  contorting  of  the  body,  and  active  use  of  the  nether 
members  to  avoid  collision,  that  leaves  one,  by  the  time  he  has 
arrived  at  the  Battery,  very  much  under  the  impression  that 
he  has  been  stretched  upon  the  rack  to  test  its  excruciating 
powers.  A  peep  into  a  shop  window  is  an  invitation  to  a 
pick-pocket ;  to  cross  the  street  requires  as  much  skill  as  to 
conduct  "  the  retreat  of  the  Ten  Thousand  ;"  and  to  get  home 
again,  sound  in  wind  and  whole  in  purse,  after  having  under 
gone  the  gauntlet  of  its  innumerable  perils,  is  as  much  a  mat 
ter  of  devout  thanksgiving  as  to  escape  being  boiled,  burned, 
or  drowned  in  a  steam-boat  trip  up  the  Hudson.  Broadway  is 
a  plethora  of  metropolitan  nuisances,  and  the  'Jity  Fathers  will 
find,  at  last,  that  there  is  but  one  remedy  :  either  to  double  its 
width,  or  to  make  a  twin  avenue,  running  parallel,  and  thus 
divide  its  overloaded  circulation.  Paris  has  effected  this  re 
form,  in  a  much-needed  quarter,  at  a  cost  of  several  millions 
of  dollars,  in  the  elongation  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  ruthlessly 
cutting  through  the  densest  and  most  valuable  property  of  the 
city  for  this  purpose. 

The  width  of  the  Boulevards,  double,  and  in  places  treble 
that  of  Broadway,  gives  ample  scope  for  the  pedestrians.  Be 
sides,  a  Parisian  crowd  flows  on  as  easily  and  noiselessly  as 
the  current  of  a  deep  river.  The  doctrine  of  individual  rights, 
irrespective  of  sox,  is  scrupulously  respected,  and  any  physical 
infringements  promptly  met  by  a  courtesy  that  leaves  behind 
no  more  uncomfortable  reminiscence  than  the  politeness  of 
the  unintentional  aggressor.  One  can  saunter  on  the  Bonle- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  03 


yards.  They  are  the  empire  of  the  curious,  the  vain,  the  idler 
of  every  fashionable  class,  and  the  El  Dorado  of  shoppers. 
Along  its  stone  boundaries,  ornate  without,  and  so  rich  in  all 
the  luxuries  of  life  within,  are  to  be  found  the  homes  of  every 
taste,  carnal  or  intellectual,  and  a  devout  Catholic  might  add 
spiritual,  if  the  sensual  worship  of  the  Madeleine  can  be  class 
ed  under  that  head.  Well  do  the  Boulevards  merit  their  fame. 
Once  the  bulwark  of  Paris,  they  have  now  become  its  parterre 
of  fashion.  Along  its  Macadamized  way,  as  smooth  as  a  joint 
ed  floor,  constantly  watered  and  swept,  and  lined  on  either 
side  with  shade-trees,  roll  noiselessly  by  thousands  of  gay  equi 
pages,  brilliant  with  the  wealth  and  beauty  of  the  capital  of 
the  world.  No  clatter  of  iron-loaded  trucks  or  unsightly  piles 
of  merchandise  jar  iriharmoniously  upon  the  ear,  or  disfigure 
its  beautiful  proportions.  The  scene  is  ever  in  keeping  with 
its  purposes  as  the  focus  of  Parisian  life.  Morning  and  even 
ing,  regiments  march  by,  preceded  by  bands  from  whose  instru 
ments  swells  a  loud  chorus  of  inspiring  strains.  The  unrival 
ed  airs  of  the  Opera  here  greet  the  ear  of  this  mingling  tide 
of  nations.  Embassadors  and  princes,  the  nobility  and  bank 
ers  of  Europe,  they  to  whom  fortune  has  suddenly  entered 
their  doors,  to  be  as  speedily  thrown  out  of  the  windows,  here 
do  congregate  to  exhibit  their  style,  to  outshine  all  competi 
tors,  and  to  levy  the  indispensable  tribute  of  envy  and  eye-wor 
ship.  Costume  is  not  here  confined,  as  in  Broadway  or  Re 
gent  Street,  to  the  same  graceless  hat  and  dull  black  cloth, 
varied  only  in  the  first  by  the  butterfly  attire  of  the  "  ladies" 
of  creation,  and  in  the  latter  by  their  inextinguishable  bad 
taste,  but  comprises  the  flowing  Arab  robe,  the  stately  Ottoman 
turban,  the  decorations  and  uniforms  of  every  order  and  army 
in  Europe,  all  that  is  strange  or  picturesque  in  provincial  or 
national  garb,  and  all  that  is  tasteful  and  charming  in  female 
attire.  Here  every  fashion  finds  itself  a  home,  intermingling 


(54  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

with  the  native  grace  of  wild  flowers  and  attractiveness  of 
cultivated  plants  in  one  bouquet  of  humanity — a  peaceful  con 
gregation  of  nations  for  the  cultivation  of  the  lust  of  the  eye 
and  pride  of  the  heart. 

The  contrasts  in  the  life  of  the  Boulevards  are  as  striking  as 
those  of  a  human  being.  They  have  their  grave  and  gay  mo 
ments,  their  chaste  and  licentious  hours,  their  solitude  and 
their  tumult.  At  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  all  is  silent. 
The  shops  are  shut,  the  very  hackmen  are  dozing  on  their 
boxes.  A  footstep  resounds  ominously  on  the  pavement.  By 
eight  o'clock  a  few  carriages  are  in  motion,  porters  begin  to 
stir,  occasional  workmen  in  blouses  go  merrily  singing  to  their 
toil.  At  nine  o'clock  the  sidewalks  are  washed  and  brushed, 
shop-windows  opened,  the  grisettes  begin  to  appear,  and  an 
occasional  frock-coat,  but  evidently  as  much  out  of  its  element 
as  a  fresh-caught  flounder.  Even  at  ten  o'clock  Parisian 
households  are  like  so  many  oysters  in  their  shells.  At  elev 
en,  the  world  of  business  stirs ;  at  mid-day,  the  Boulevards 
breakfast,  and  the  buyers  begin  to  inspect  the  windows,  and 
tax  the  endurance  of  clerks.  From  two  to  five  the  current  of 
life  is  in  its  apogee.  Humanity,  well  dressed  and  elaborately 
adorned,  is  abroad  to  sun  itself — to  relieve  its  pent-up  humors 
by  gazing  upon  the  holiday  expression  of  its  neighbor  man, 
and  to  catch  and  reflect  back  the  universal  look  of  outer  satis 
faction.  There  is  no  despotic  rule  of  cloth  here.  It  is  the 
jubilee  of  fashions  and  the  paradise  of  manners.  All  are  at 
their  ease,  and  there  are  as  many  cuts  to  a  coat  and  shapes  to 
a  hat  as  there  are  fancies  to  their  owners.  Rigid  toilets  are 
banished  to  the  more  pretending  Champs  Elysees.  "Women, 
"  comme  il  faut,"  shop,  but  never  promenade  on  the  Boule 
vards.  Their  finished  elegance  and  graceful  recognitions  are 
reserved  for  the  more  aristocratic  crowd. 

Later  in  the  day,  the  restaurant  and  cafe  world  are  in  tho 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


ascendant.  The  diners  are  in  rapid  circulation,  dividing  their 
attention  and  purses  between  the  localities  so  firmly  fixed  in 
the  gastronomic  memory  of  every  "  gourmet."  Cheap  dinners 


are  not  to  be  had  under  the  shadow  of  the  "  Maison  Doree," 
that  wilderness  of  gilding  and  bizarre  finish,  nor  yet  within 
the  Cafe  Cardinal,  of  which  the  basement  alone  rents  for  fortv 


ftfi 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES 


thousand  francs.  For  these,  the  more  democratic  shades  of 
the  Palais  Royal  must  be  sought,  shunning  the  Scylla  of  Very's 
and  the  Trois  Freres  Provencaux,  which  have  shipwrecked  as 


many  purses  as  any  other  of  their  tribe  in  more  brilliant  lo 
calities.  The  dined  now  fill  the  chairs  on  the  side-walks  at 
two  sous  each,  in  front  of  the  Cafe  de  Paris  and  other  kindred 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


quarters,  sipping  black  coffee  and  clear  brandy,  eating  ices,  or 
drinking  beer,  gossiping  and  gazing  in  the  intervals.  They 
are  soon  joined  by  their  families,  women  and  children,  as  much 
at  home  in  the  open  air  as  any  Englishman  in  his  "castle." 
Gas  now  adds  its  light  to  the  brilliant  scene,  and  reflectors 
outside  of  the  shop-windows  pour  their  concentrated  brilliancy 
upon  gems  and  jewels  that  rival  any  in  store  in  Aladdin's 
cave.  The  Boulevards  at  night  are  in  a  blaze  of  light.  It  is 
then  that  they  appear  to  the  best  advantage.  The  world,  hav 
ing  dined,  has  become  good-natured.  Every  one  is  abroad  for 
pleasure.  Opera  and  theatres  are  attracting  their  worshipers 
in  crowds.  Electrical  lights  lend  their  dubious  brilliancy  to 
the  varied  spectacle,  dancing  upon  street  and  wall  the  varied 
hues  of  the  rainbow,  coloring  every  countenance  with  ghastly 
blue,  or  shooting  into  the  long  distance  a  train  of  gradually- 
diminishing  light,  like  the  attenuated  tail  of  a  comet. 

The  "  Maison  du  Grand 
Ealcon"  is  a  fine  speci- 
men  of  modern  Parisian 
architecture,  which  com 
prises  so  great  a  variety 
of  professions  and  profes 
sors  under  one  roof.  In 
it  are  shops  which  leave 
nothing  to  be  desired  in 
point  of  magnificence — 
apartments  fit  for  a  prince, 
bachelor,  or  grisette.  El 
egance,  refinement,  vir 
tue,  poverty,  and  vice  can  each  find  a  home,  at  its  price,  in  one 
of  these  habitations.  Their  external  appearance  is  no  crite 
rion  of  what  may  be  found  within  ;  the  convenient  neighborly 
blindness,  or  indifference  to  individual  acts,  which  pervades 


MAISON   DU   GRAND    BALCON. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


the  French  metropolis,  so  unlike  the  prying  curiosity  and  per 
sonal  interest  of  American  and  English  society,  leave  as  much 
latitude  of  action,  provided  external  decorum  is  not  infringed 
as  the  most  isolated  heart  could  desire. 


Passing  the  Boulevard  Montmartre,  fashion  and  elegance  be 
gin  slowly  to  decline.     The  buildings  are  still  beautiful,  but 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


the  foot-passengers  indicate  a  gradual  approach  to  the  manu 
facturing  regions  of  St.  Antoine  and  the  Jewish  colonies  of  the 
Temple.  Here  are  congregated,  in  close  proximity,  the  low- 


priced  theatres,  where,  for  a  franc  or  less,  the  canaille  indulge 
their  taste  for  spectacles,  and  their  lungs  in  every  variety  of 
noise  that  makes  the  drama  hideous.  They  smoke,  "babies 


70 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


scream,  nurses  jabber,  nuts  are  cracked,  fruit  devoured,  and 
from  six  o'clock  until  midnight,  riot  and  happiness,  under  the 
supervision  of  the  gendarmes,  pervade  the  scene.  These  the 


atres  are  the  lyceums  of  the  poorer  classes,  the  schools  of  their 
manners,  the  forum  of  their  eloquence — in  short,  the  all  they 
know  of  the  world  outside  of  their  work-shops,  except  the  ele 
mentary  education  of  the  dram-shop.  Villainous  corn  brandy, 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


and  debasing  theatricals,  enter  largely  into  the  physical  and 
mental  training  of  the  lower  orders.  Yet  degradation  among 
them  has  not  the  repulsive,  criminal  aspect  that  it  has  among 
the  corresponding  class  of  English  society.  It  does  not  extin 
guish  self-respect.  Their  vanity  outlives  every  other  senti 
ment  ;  and  this,  combined  with  their  inexhaustible  "  bonhom- 
mie,"  makes  them  the  sensual,  live-for-to-day  race  that  we 
find  them.  They  may  be  dirty,  ragged,  ferocious,  or  fanciful 
in  their  exteriors — a  race  of  "  tigers  pitted  with  the  small 
pox,"  or  combining  all  the  hideous  ugliness  of  dress  and  per 
son  of  Marat,  yet  over  all  is  thrown  that  air  of  individual  hu 
mor  and  importance  that  never  forsakes  a  Parisian,  and  secures 
for  him,  even  in  the  lowest  stage  of  existence,  a  medium  po 
sition  between  the  brutalized  poverty  of  Ireland  and  the  com 
fortable  indigence  of  America. 

The  world  of  the  Boulevards,  which  has  become  in  this  re 
gion  somewhat  vulgar,  revives  again  somewhat  as  we  ap 
proach  the  Column  of  July.  Still,  it  is  a  very  different  world 
from  that  of  the  Boulevard  de  la  Madeleine,  although  strictly 
Parisian  in  every  feature.  It  has  lost  its  brilliancy,  but  has 
acquired  in  its  place  an  air  of  comfort  and  independence.  It 
is  the  Bowery  versus  Broadway.  Those  catchalls  of  human 
vanity,  the  magazine  of  the  debris  of  fashion,  luxury,  arts,  and 
folly,  the  "  bric-a-brac"  shops,  are  numerous.  We  are  in  the 
region  of  cheap  rents  and  bargains.  Fashion  has  not  here  in 
vaded  thrift  and  economy.  Her  glitter  is  seen  in  the  perspect 
ive,  and  her  repudiated  garments  or  prodigal  spillings  can  be 
had  in  this  quarter  for  a  song.  A  short  walk  and  a  moderate 
sum  will  put  one  in  possession  of  an  apartment,  regal  in  ex 
tent  and  decayed  grandeur,  in  the  very  centre  of  the  "  court- 
end"  of  the  Medicean  queens,  the  Place  Royal,  now  republic- 
anized  into  the  Place  des  Yosges.  For  a  neighbor  he  would 
have  the  Hotel  de  Carnavalet  arid  all  the  charming  associa- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


tions  connected  with  the  "  esprit"  and  talent  of  Madame  de 
Sevigne,  who  here  reigned  sovereign  of  wit  and  refinement, 
and  composed  those  letters  which  have  immortalized  her 


name.  Beyond  the  Seine  the  Boulevards  maintain  their 
width,  their  trees,  their  stateliness,  and  majesty.  But  it  is  no 
longer  the  majesty  of  Paris.  It  is  the  reign  of  the  country: 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  73 

quiet,  shady  avenues,  removed  from  the  turmoil  and  excite 
ment  of  the  city,  yet  keeping  in  view  Notre  Dame,  the  Garden 
of  Plants,  the  Wine-market,  in  which  there  is  liquor  enough 
stowed  to  float  a  navy,  the  Cluaker-like  lie  Saint  Louis,  that 
city  of  the  sick  and  insane,  the  "  Salpetriere,"  that  grandilo 
quent  mass  of  stone  and  mortar,  the  Pantheon,  and  termina 
ting  at  the  tomb  of  Napoleon  and  the  home  of  his  veterans. 

The  historical  associations  of  the  Boulevards  are  of  a  recent 
date  and  comparative  insignificance.  Fieschi  has  given  an 
assassin's  celebrity  to  the  house  No.  50,  on  the  Boulevard  du 
Temple,  and  in  that  of  the  Capucines  we  gaze  with  mournful 
interest  upon  the  hotel  once  occupied  by  Madame  du  Barri. 
It  was  here,  while  on  her  way  to  execution,  that  she  asked  the 
driver  of  the  fatal  cart  to  pause  for  a  moment,  that  she  might 
once  more  view  that  beautiful  monument  of  her  pride  and  her 
shame.  While  Death  was  counting  the  few  remaining  mo 
ments  of  her  life,  she  was  looking  regretfully  back  upon  the 
deceptive  pleasures  of  her  sensuous  career.  How  many  there 
are  of  her  sex  at  the  present  hour  who  barter  virtue  for  still 
more  ephemeral  luxury,  passing  daily,  in  their  brilliant  equi 
pages,  this  house,  which,  if  they  ever  bestowed  a  thought  upon 
its  former  occupant,  might  become  to  them  at  once  a  lesson 
and  a  warning !  To  complete  the  moral,  the  cart  which  con 
veyed  her  to  the  scaffold  should  crown  its  gateway,  with  her 
last  despairing  cry  for  life,  as  she  struggled  in  the  execution 
er's  hands,  inscribed  upon  its  frame. 


The  Boulevards  are  a  panorama  only  of  modern  Paris.  To 
see  at  one  glance  the  past  with  the  present,  we  must  turn  to 
the  banks  of  the  Seine.  It  is  here  that  are  most  powerfully 
realized  the  pulsations  of  the  strong  heart  of  this  mural  mon 
ster,  with  its  condensation  of  life  and  death.  The  past  stares 
upon  us  from  the  towers  of  N6tre  Dame,  looks  up  from  the 

I) 


74  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

dungeons  of  the  Conciergerie,  gazes  askant  from  the  blood- 
soaked  pavement  of  the  Place  de  Greve,  charitably  opens  the 
doors  of  the  Hotel  Dieu,  and,  with  mingled  shame  and  pride, 
displays  the  Louvre,  Tuileries,  and  the  Hotel  de  Yille.  The 
present  rejoices  in  its  magnificent  quays,  crowded  on  either 
side  with  noble  specimens  of  architecture,  rich  in  the  accumu 
lated  learning  and  science  of  ages.  The  abode  of  the  saintly 
Louis,  now  the  Palace  of  Justice,  the  Holy  Chapel,  with  its 
/medieval  treasures  and  saintly  relics,  the  venerable  Institute, 
and  a  long  line  of  palaces,  overshadow  the  waters  of  the  Seine. 
Here,  too,  are  the  relics  of  olden  time — quaint  old  houses,  whose 
roofs  sheltered  the  partisans  of  the  Fronde.  A  motley  and 
curious  blending  of  what  has  become  and  is  to  be  history 
does  the  Seine  present.  It  is  as  if  Time  had  swept  into  one 
heap  the  living  and  the  dead.  The  current  of  the  former  runs 
healthy  and  strong.  Unlike  the  Boulevards,  it  is  not  simply  a 
sparkling,  playful  stream,  on  the  bosom  of  which  one  can  with 
equal  ease  leisurely  float  or  quickly  glide,  but  a  deep,  dense, 
full  current  of  working  life,  hurrying  rapidly  on  to  its  destiny. 
Those  who  seek  its  quays  are  baited  by  an  object.  Men  do 
not  come  here  to  lounge,  nor  women  for  display.  They  avoid 
it  until  necessity,  or  with  them  equally  imperious  pleasure, 
draws  them  into  its  vortex.  Yet  in  no  part  of  Paris  is  the  liv 
ing  world  more  full  of  variety  and  interest.  The  noble  bridges 
that  at  short  intervals  span  the  Seine  afford  from  their  para 
pets  far  more  interesting  sights  than  those  of  the  Thames. 
There,  every  thing  must  be  seen  through  an  atmosphere  of  coal- 
dust  :  a  muddy  river  and  muddier  bed  ;  dingy  buildings  ;  black, 
graceless  steamers  ;  a  black  forest  of  masts  ;  huge  columns  of 
black  smoke  pouring  incessantly  upward  from  spectre-like 
chimneys  ;  black  coats  and  black  hats — everything  dark,  heavy, 
and  gloomy.  A  pall  seems  spread  over  the  public  edifices,  and 
suspended  in  the  air.  One  glance  shows  the  Thames  in  all  its 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


75 


unpicturesque  monotony,  as  it  has  been,  is,  and  ever  will  be 
while  London  sky  continues  to  be  a  solution  of  fog  and  smoke. 
Not  so  on  the  Seine.  Its  sun  is  a  bright,  gladdening  sun. 
Under  its  influence,  its  banks  grow  gay  with  life  and  light.  Its 
prospects  are  ever  changing  and  attractive.  The  stone  em 
bankments  confine  its  bed  to  a  deep,  strong  stream,  leaving  no 


VIEW  FROM  THE  QUAY  OF  THE  LOUVRE 

margin  for  mud,  or  the  ordinary  nuisances  of  a  river  intersect 
ing  a  city.  Where  space  permits,  trees,  grass,  and  flowers 
flourish,  contrasting  sweetly  with  the  gray  stone  about  them. 
The  atmosphere  is  brilliantly  clear.  The  landings  are  scrupu 
lously  neat.  Every  species  of  merchandise  and  marketing  has 
its  distinct  place.  The  batteaux,  miniature  steamers,  boats, 


76 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


and  rafts,  seem  all  to  be  arranged  for  a  picturesque  effect. 
There  is  no  crowding.  Each  has  ample  space,  and  the  whole 
form  a  river-scene  unexcelled  in  its  artificial  accompaniments 
by  the  hand  of  man  elsewhere. 

The  Parisian  loves  the  Seine  as  the  Venetian  loves  the  Adri 
atic  and  the  Hollander  his  dikes  and  marshes.  The  poor  Lu- 
tece,  which  gave  birth  to  the  present  city,  was  two  thousand 
years  since  but  a  miserable  hamlet  of  fishermen.  A  petty 
tribe  of  savages  gained  a  scanty  subsistence  from  what  was 
then  a  thick  forest  or  treacherous  morass.  The  aquatic  taste 
and  origin  of  the  founder  of  Paris  are  perpetuated  in  the 
present  arms  of  the  city,  a  vessel  under  sail,  and  on  the  collars 
of  the  municipal  police  will  be  found  embroidered  this  craft 
as  a  distinctive  badge.  What  the  codfish  is  to  Massachu 
setts,  the  Seine  is  to  Paris — the  source  and  emblem  of  its  pros 
perity.  Its  waters  sustain  the  living  and  receive  the  despair 
ing.  Deprive  Parisians  of  charcoal  and  the  Seine,  and  suicide 
would  be  at  a  loss  for  a  weapon.  It  supplies  Paris  with  drink 
ing  water — a  fluid,  however,  not  much  in  request  The  sew 
ers  discharge  their  filthy  currents  into  its  stream,  yet  the 
washerwomen  hesitate  not  to  moor  their  mammoth  establish 
ments  in  close  proximity  to  these  subterranean  outlets,  and 


WASHING    ESTABLISHMENT 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


77 


contrive  to  return  linen  of  unimpeachable  purity.  Some  of 
these  floating  wash-tubs  are  vast,  airy,  and  constructed  in  very 
agreeable  shapes,  like  the  mosques  of  the  Bosphorus,  or  are 
prettily  painted,  and  surmounted  with  a  drying-room,  shut  in 
by  trellis-work,  after  the  Oriental  style. 

But  what  strikes 
the  stranger  with 
greatest  surprise,  in 
view  of  the  scaven 
ger  duties  of  the 
Seine,  is  the  num 
ber,  beauty,  and  ex 
tent  of  the  bathing- 
houses  along  its 
PARISIAN  BATHING-HOUSE.  banks.  They  merit 

more  than  a  passing  notice. 

Commencing  with  those  of  the  most  humble  description, 
where,  for  four  sous,  the  bather  has  the  liberty  only  of  a  plunge 


BATHS   FOR   FOUR    SOUS. 


into  the  dubious  stream,  towels,  drawers,  and  soap  extra,  but 
rarely  called  for,  they  gradually  increase  in  elegance  and  price 
until  they  leave  nothing  more  to  be  desired  in  this  species  of 
luxury.  Monsieur,  selecting  his  "  cabinet,"  ensconces  himself 


78 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


in  the  depths  of  the  bathing-tub,  not  simply  for  a  bath,  but  to 
t-"ke  his  snuff,  read,  and  doze  for  the  hour  together.     He  makes 


BATHING    AT    EASE. 


and  remakes  his  bath,  nicely  graduating  the  temperature  to 
his  varying  and  delightful  sensations.  But  his  happiness 
would  be  incomplete  if  he  could  not  bestow  upon  a  neighbor, 
at  his  option,  any  sudden  overflow  of  volubility.  Consequent 
ly,  at  the  head  of  every  tub  there  is  arranged  a  slide  in  the 
partition,  opening  into  the  adjoining  room.  By  pushing  this 
back  he  is  able  to  communicate  his  thoughts  and  exhibit  his 
profile  to  his  similarly  engaged  neighbor.  He  finds  even  this 
social  arrangement  frequently  too  restricted  for  his  notions  of 
the  perfect  enjoyment  of  a  bath,  and  has  devised  double-tubbed 
cabinets,  upon  the  principle  of  our  double-bedded  hotel  rooms, 
where  he  can  have  the  sympathizing  society  of  his  friend. 
The  first  bathing-house  I  saw  on  this  plan  was  in  London. 
Upon  expressing  my  surprise,  the  proprietor  assured  me  that 
he  had  so  arranged  them  for  the  convenience  of  Frenchmen, 
who  preferred  bathing  in  couples.  Having  since  seen  so  many 
operations  of  the  toilet  and  matters  of  private  or  domestic  econ- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


omy  performed  openly  in  the  public  places  of  Paris,  I  have 
ceased  to  be  astonished  at  even  this  predilection.  Indeed,  I 
have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  a  Frenchman  believes  it  im 
possible  for  him  to  appear  at  disadvantage  under  any  circum 
stances  connected  with  his  physical  self;  or  else  the  gregari 
ous  instinct,  as  with  certain  animals,  is  stronger  within  him 
than  what  are  considered  by  his  neighbors  over  the  Channel 
among  the  proprieties  of  life. 

The  swimming-schools  for  both  sexes  are  upon  a  scale  of 


80  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

grandeur  and  luxury  in  no  whit  behind  the  baths.  The  art  of 
living  is  a  very  comprehensive  branch  of  Parisian  knowledge. 
Every  sensual  gratification  is  refined  upon  to  its  fullest  extent. 
Life  is  a  struggle  to  extract  and  elaborate  pleasure  from  every 
object  perceptible  to  the  senses,  so  that  to  know  how  to  live 
has,  in  the  estimation  of  a  Parisian,  attained  the  dignity  of  an 
art.  He  is  right  so  far  as  the  innocent  gratifications  of  the 
varied  capacities  of  enjoyment  bestowed  upon  man  by  a  be 
neficent  Creator  are  concerned.  It  is  right  that  we  should 
study  to  cultivate,  refine,  and  multiply  our  sources  of  pleasure. 
It  becomes  criminal,  however,  when  the  physical  supplants  the 
spiritual,  and  happiness  is  made  to  consist  in  a  succession  of 
physical  excitements  or  sensual  extravagances,  by  which  the 
constitution  is  gradually  undermined,  the  mental  sensibility 
blunted,  and  moral  discrimination  destroyed.  Frenchmen, 
however,  understand  too  well  the  physical  economy  to  exhaust 
life.  They  carefully  conserve  it,  that  it  may  be  to  them  an  un 
failing  source  of  enjoyment  to  the  last.  The  great  age  in  gen 
eral  attained  by  their  aristocracy,  though  submerged,  as  it  were, 
in  a  sea  of  luxury,  attests  this  fact.  We  would  riot  deny  them 
either  the  existence  of  a  higher  principle  in  this  prolonged 
conservation  of  health  than  the  mere  training  of  the  system 
to  preserve  its  tone  and  power  for  physical  enjoyment.  Still, 
no  one  can  penetrate  life  at  Paris  without  a  painful  conscious 
ness  that  its  idols  are  those  of  the  flesh  and  not  of  the  spirit — 
external  gratification  rather  than  inward  peace.  The  enjoy 
ment  of  life  is  imbibed.  It  is  strong  upon  the  surface,  but 
weaker  as  it  penetrates  the  interior.  Instead  of  radiating  from 
the  heart,  it  is  received  upon  the  skin.  Antiquity  has  no  ecsta 
sy  to  bequeath  to  it.  Even  Orientalism  can  borrow  from  its 
voluptuous  stores.  It  repudiates  the  barbarous  vices  of  pagan 
ism,  but  revels  in  the  softer  and  more  seductive  charms  of 
modern  atheism,  practically  denying  eternity,  that  it  may  wor- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  81 

ship  only  time.  Paris  extorts  from  every  American  and  En 
glishman  the  inconsistent  sentiment  that,  while  they  love  to 
live  amid  its  delights,  yet  they  would  regret  to  have  their  na 
tive  cities  resemble  it. 

But  I  am  forgetting  the  more  amusing  pictures  of  life  and 
manners  in  these  swimming-schools.  The  early  morning  hours 
are  occupied  by  those  who  come  simply  for  the  love  of  the  art. 
They  swim,  eat  a  modest  breakfast,  and  depart.  Succeeding 
them,  toward  noon,  are  the  Sardanapaluses  and  the  Balthazars 
of  the  school,  the  gross  citizens  who  come  less  to  bathe  than 
to  breakfast.  The  water  is  nearly  deserted.  The  fumes  of 
punch,  and  coffee,  and  cigars  fill  the  atmosphere.  The  ear  is 
stunned  with  the  explosion  of  Champagne  corks,  and  the  cries 
"  Gargon,  my  beefsteak!  Gluick  with  my  chicken  saute'." 
"  Yoila  !  voila !"  After  breakfast,  a  lounge  or  siesta  upon  the 
floor  or  benches.  Some  go  to  the  swimming-school  as  they 
would  to  a  masked  ball,  eccentrically  clad,  or  rather  wrapped, 
as  Arabs,  Turks,  Greeks,  or  Poles. 

The  cafe  of  the  swimming-school,  of  which  the  "  comptoir" 
is  always  kept  by  a  woman — in  some  instances  the  "  gargons" 
are  women  also — is  filled  with  an  eating,  drinking,  and  smok 
ing  nude  crowd.  Cold  water  is  a  famous  stomachic.  One 
would  suppose,  from  the  specimens  of  the  human  figure  here 
exhibited,  that  these  "  dames"  would  forthwith  bury  them 
selves  deep  in  the  recesses  of  the  remotest  convent,  that  such 
apparitions  might  never  more  greet  their  view.  Grog,  ab- 
synth,  Madeira,  and  cigars  are  called  for  with  furious  haste. 

At  six  o'clock  the  lions  deliver  themselves  into  the  hands 
of  their  hair-dressers  and  corn-cutters,  preparatory  to  their 
conquests  upon  the  Boulevards  arid  Champs  Elysees,  and  to 
dine  long  and  sumptuously  at  Vefour's,  the  Trois  Freres  Pro- 
vengaux,  or  the  Maison  Doree.  The  aquatic  taste  of  some  of 
the  bathers  changes  frequently  the  cafe  of  the  school  into  a  res- 

D2 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


PREPARATION  FOK  CONQUEST. 


taurant,  and  they  remain 
here  to  dine,  gazing  with 
out  constraint,  in  their 
simple  costume  of  draw 
ers,  upon  the  animated 
scene  before  them.  With 
the  thermometer  at  90°  in 
the  shade,  one  can  readily 
conceive  the  charm  of 
relinquishing  broadcloth 
for  the  scanty  garb  of  a 
Tahitian,  relieving  the  te 
dium  of  a  dinner,  and  stimulating  the  appetite  by  an  occasion 
al  plunge  into  the  cool  river. 

The  women  have  also  their  baths  at  four  sous,  at  which,  be 
it  observed  to  their  credit,  on  their  own  testimony,  however, 
they  preserve  an  exterior  decency  not  to  be  seen  in  the  cor 
responding  class  of  bathing-houses  among  the  males.  The  fe 
male  bathing-costume  is  much  the  same  as  that  in  use  at  New 
port  and  Cape  May.  Oc 
casionally  are  added 
ruffled  night-caps  and 
coiffed  hair,  which  are 
said  to  have,  as  can 
readily  be  conceived, 
a  horrible  effect.  The 
most  coquettish  embroi 
der  their  "  pantalons" 
in  different  colors,  and 
wear  in  the  water  their 
bracelets  and  necklac- 
The  advantage  of 


es. 


costume,  as    compared 


EN    COSTUME. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH   PRINCIPLES 


NYMPHS    OF    THE    .SEINE. 


with  the   male   bathers,  is 

decidedly  with  the  female, 

though  even  among  them, 

it  must  be  urigallantly  con 
fessed,  that  the  modiste's 

art  performs  wonders.   The 

cafe  scenes  of  the  male  schools  are  not  rivaled  in  the  female. 
Whatever  emulation  exists  of  this 
nature  is  confined  to  the  heroines 
of  gallantry  and  opulent  pleasure, 
who  hold  their  bacchanal  revels 
apart.  As  I  have  lifted  the  veil 
from  the  male  bathers,  impartial 
justice  requires  at  my  hands  the 
same  toward  the  female.  Voici ! 
As  on  the  pavement,  beauty,  grace, 
arid  harmony  mingle  with  age,  obe 
sity,  and  ugliness — the  most  delicious 
with  the  most  grotesque  and  amus 
ing  image.  Forgive  me,  shade  of 
But  'tis  true,  and  pity — 'tis  true, 


READY    FOR   THE    PLUNGE. 


Mohammed 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SOCIETY    AND    SHOPPING. 

So  susceptible  were  the  Athenians  to  the  influences  of  ma 
terial  beauty,  and  the  subtle  intoxication  of  the  senses,  that  it 
is  said  their  judges  listened  only  to  the  pleadings  of  certain 
orators  in  the  dark,  for  fear  that  their  judgments  should  be 
biased  by  the  more  powerful  eloquence  of  their  extreme  come 
liness,  made  doubly  effective  by  the  winning  artifices  of  the  ac 
complished  speakers.  This  may  readily  be  credited  of  the  court 
that  turned  aside  justice  at  the  artful  expose  of  the  charms  of  a 
courtesan.  The  Greeks  were  indeed  a  race  prone  to  the  live 
liest  emotions.  Specious  eloquence  easily  swayed  or  excited 
them,  under  the  shadows  of  those  glorious  forms  of  architect 
ural  and  statuesque  beauty  upon  which  the  world,  for  more 
than  two  thousand  years,  has  placed  the  verdict  of  perfection, 
while  transmitting  them  to  posterity  under  the  honorable  ap 
pellation  of  Grecian  Art.  The  mantle  of  their  sympathy  with 
that  beauty  that  appeals  so  powerfully  to  the  physical  and  in 
tellectual,  creating  from  each  a  species  of  worship,  has  fallen, 
in  these  times,  upon  Frenchmen.  Greece  only,  of  the  nations 
of  antiquity,  was  able  to  give  birth  to  those  brilliant  combi 
nations  of  beauty,  grace,  and  wit,  which  enthralled  alike  the 
philosophy  of  Socrates  and  the  statesmanship  of  Pericles,  and 
made  the  wisdom  and  talent  of  that  nation  more  submissive  to 
the  caprices  of  a  harlot  than  to  the  virtues  of  a  wife.  Lais 
and  Aspasia  have  left  names  as  imperishable  as  the  genius 
of  the  people  whose  society  they  adorned,  but  whose  morals 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  85 

they  corrupted.     France  alone,  of  modem  nations,  has  devel 
oped  a  kindred  class  of  women.    Ninon  de  1'Enclos  and  Marion 
Delorme  inherited  alike  the  accomplishments  and  vices  of  their 
Grecian  sisters,  and  it  is  only  in  French  history  or  the  annals 
of  Greece  that  such  reputations  could  have  achieved  immor 
tality.      Their  beauty  would  have   found   worshipers    every 
where,  but  their  intellectual  fascinations  and  epicurean  refine 
ments  of  corruption  would  have  failed  elsewhere  to  make  them 
the  queens  of  submissive  coteries  of  wealth,  rank,  and  talent. 
Rome,  true  to  its  solitary  instinct  of  force,  was  capable  of  add 
ing  a  Julia  or  Messalina  to  its  coarse  and  repulsive  career  of 
debauchery,  while  the  merry  monarch  of  modern  England  was 
compelled  to  borrow  from  Paris  the  female  name  that  most 
graced  and  disgraced  the   orgies  of  his  reign.     "We  would  as 
soon  look  for  the  tropic  bird  in  the  sea  of  Okotsk  as  for  a  Di 
ana  de  Poitiers  in  the   snows  of  Russia.     The  loves   of  her 
women  are  nearer  allied  to  Roman  lust  than  Parisian  grace. 
Edinburgh  and  Boston  dispute  the  title  of  modern  Athens,  but 
it  is  in  literature  and  philosophy  alone  ;  while  Paris,  in  every 
feature  that  constitutes  a  proud,  gay,  intellectual,  and  magnifi 
cent  capital,  and,  above  all,  in  the  skeptical,  pleasure-loving, 
beauty-worshiping,  sensuous  character  of  its  population,  can 
justly  assert  its  pre-eminence  in  all  those  qualities  that  have 
made   the   metropolis  of  Attica  celebrated  through  all  time. 
This  affinity  between  the  inhabitants  of  these  two  cities  is  not 
a  discovery  of  the  present   century ;  it  was  noticed  by  the 
sharp-witted  philosophers  of  the  last.     But  they  failed  to  ob 
serve  one  feature  in  which  the  women  of  Paris  can  happily 
claim  a  proud  distinction.     This  they  owe  to  the  spiritualizing 
doctrines  of  Christianity.     If  their  sex  have  illustrated  the 
brilliant  union  of  mere  beauty  with  intellect,  they  have  also 
produced  characters,  of  equal  attractions  in  these  points,  guid 
ed  by  the  maxims  of  a  purer  morality  than  Greece  ever  knew, 


86  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


and  subjected  to  the  severer  discipline  of  Christian  truth. 
Paris  can  rival  Athens  in  all  that  made  her  women  the  com 
panions  of  her  men ;  but  the  glory  of  Athens  rose  and  set  too 
soon  to  allow  her  to  receive  the  only  doctrine  which  had  pow 
er  to  purify  it,  and  render  it  permanent. 

Women,  then,  possessing  education,  beauty,  and  wit,  main 
tain  an  empire  in  Paris  unequaled  elsewhere  in  extent  and  in 
fluence  ;  but  it  is  not  a  power  which  abides  because  once  pos 
sessed  .  To  maintain  its  conquests,  unremitting  care  is  required . 
"W  oman  reigns  supreme,  but  her  supremacy  depends  upon  her 
legitimate  attractions.  The  beauty  of  a  French  woman  is 
not  so  strongly  characteristic  as  that  of  an  English  woman, 
German,  Italian,  or  Spanish.  It  may,  but  rarely  does,  pos 
sess  the  delicacy  of  the  American,  although  it  often  combines 
the  clear  complexion,  dark  hair,  and  piercing  or  soft  blue  eyes 
of  the  others.  It  is  more  of  a  mosaic  than  that  of  other  coun 
tries.  But  its  strength  lies  rather  in  her  "  esprit;"  this  is 
never  extinguished.  Some  women  drop  their  beauty  as  they 
do  a  garment — all  at  once  ;  from  being  superb  they  become 
hideous.  Others  lose  it  by  degrees,  and  gracefully  fall  back 
from  embonpoint  to  their  hair,  from  hair  to  teeth  ;  these  gone, 
the  brilliant,  speaking  eyes  remain,  conserving  still  all  their 
triumphs.  As  they  lose  their  lustre,  and  the  figure  its  elas 
ticity,  most  women  withdraw  from  society,  as  being  too  dilap 
idated  to  add  to  its  attractions,  or  receive  from  it  enjoyment. 
Not  so  with  French  ladies.  They  skillfully  conceal  the  as 
saults  of  time  by  the  arts  of  the  toilet,  and  retain  their  power, 
and,  if  possible,  become  more  attractive,  by  their  inexhausti 
ble  "  esprit,"  into  the  "  spirituel"  depths  of  which  they  plunge 
as  into  a  fountain  of  youth.  The  respect  and  attention  paid 
to  age  is  delightful  to  witness.  Society  is  not  made  up  merely 
of  thoughtless  youth,  whose  highest  aim  is  amusement,  but 
parents  take  the  lead,  and  children  are  content  to  follow  their 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


87 


i  I, 


A   CHARMER    AT    SIXTY. 


guidance.  The  art  of  conversation,  as  well  as  that  of  dancing, 
is  cultivated,  and  soirees  and  receptions  give  scope  to  more 
elevating  exchange  of  thoughts  than  mere  gossip  or  chit-chat. 
It  requires  intellectual  effort  to  maintain  a  good  footing  in  Pa 
risian  society.  One  must  know  something,  or  be  a  lion,  how 
ever  small.  Grace  of  figure  and  skill  of  legs  are  not  the  only 
needful  accomplishments.  Society  in  which  the  souvenirs  of 
Mile,  de  la  Fayette,  Madames  Sevigne  and  Re'camier  are  cher 
ished,  and  a  long  list  of  names  of  either  sex,  illustrious  in  all 
that  makes  a  drawing-room  brilliant  and  attractive,  is  not  con 
tent  with  the  trite  and  commonplace.  The  past  must  be  ran 
sacked  for  its  stores  of  wit,  and  the  future  anticipated  in  its 
progress.  Who,  then,  is  so  well  fitted  to  shine  in  Parisian  so- 


88  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

ciety  as  an  experienced,  intelligent  woman  ?  So  long  as  she 
can  enter  a  drawing-room,  she  never  grows  old ;  her  memory 
becomes  a  treasury  of  anecdotes  for  the  young,  of  wisdom  for 
adults.  Like  Madame  de  la  Cre'quy,  at  ninety-six  years  of 
age,  she  can  at  once  retain  the  respectful  admiration  and  gal 
lantry  of  the  Emperor  Napoleon  and  the  affection  and  respect 
of  youth.  It  has  been  truly  said  that  every  statesman,  artist, 
poet — in  short,  every  man  who  has  not  passed  some  years  in 
the  intimacy  of  old  Parisian  women,  has  failed  in  his  education 
of  the  world.  Sooner  or  later,  his  life  will  resent  this  wrong. 

The  secret  of  their  great  superiority — so  says  Leon  Gozlan, 
and  I  believe  him — is  easily  explained.  As  they  grow  old, 
they  preserve  the  delicacy  of  the  woman,  and  acquire  the 
good  sense  of  a  man.  As  the  wine  of  which  Homer  speaks, 
they  become  honey  by  the  virtue  of  their  years.  Living  by 
reason  alone,  they  are  dead  to  the  passions.  No  one  deceives 
them  ;  why  should  they  ?  There  is  no  longer  call  for  coquet 
ry,  or  any  thing  to  gain  by  flattery.  The  solid  charms  of  rea 
son  and  wisdom  gather  about  them  a  continual  harvest  of  re 
spect  and  attention.  But  this  could  not  be,  had  she  not  pre 
pared  herself  to  be  the  guide,  companion,  and  counselor  of  the 
young — a  preparation  not  to  be  made  by  the  weak  instincts  of 
American  mothers,  which  banish  them  from  society  to  the 
kitchen  or  nursery,  leaving  their  sons  and  daughters,  in  all 
their  inexperience  and  youthful  ardor,  to  the  unrestrained  in 
dulgence  of  their  vanities  and  unfledged  emotions,  in  the  per 
nicious  atmosphere  of  our  juvenile  ball-rooms.  Let  us  have 
innocence  and  beauty  at  our  social  gatherings,  but  let  them  be 
chaperoned  by  parental  care  and  experience.  So  shall  society 
in  America  be  redeemed  from  its  frivolity  to  the  higher  pur 
poses  of  intellectual  entertainment,  and  parents  and  children 
have  less  reason  to  complain  of  mutual  neglect. 

I  am  aware  that  there  is  another  phase  to  Parisian  society 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


89 


— one,  if  you  please,  of  heartlessness  and  hypocrisy.  But  in 
these  respects,  is  it  worse  than  fashionable  life  every  where  ? 
Parisian  society  is  a  firmament  of  worlds,  each  revolving  in 
its  own  sphere.  Pleasure  and  interest  are  the  grand  magnets 
of  attraction  in  all.  Balzac  says  there  are  reunions,  but  no 
society,  at  Paris.  Perhaps  he  is  right;  but  nowhere  is  there 
more  enjoyment  for  the  stranger.  Provided  he  is  properly 
presented,  he  can  have  a  wide  and  varied  circle  of  entrees. 
Once  admitted,  he  is  always  at  home.  Introductions  are  un 


necessary.  It  is  not  always  necessary  to  know  the  host  or 
hostess.  One  can  enter  or  leave  at  his  option — French  leaves 
have  become  proverbial.  They  are  convenient,  certainly,  to 
both  parties.  In  this  sort  of  "  monde" — for  at  Paris  Madame 
receives  her  "  world,"  if  her  callers  be  fewer  in  number  than 
the  satellites  of  Jupiter— tastes  only  are  consulted  in  forming 
acquaintances.  Within  the  walls  of  the  salon  the  world  as 
semble  as  friends,  but  part  as  strangers.  "  Egalite  and  frater- 
nite"  reign  there  in  their  true  social  sense,  restrained  only  by 
sufficient  courtesy  to  fuse  all  present  into  one  "  party  of  pleas- 


y<»  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


ure."  Your  arm  may  encircle  in  the  waltz  the  fairest  waist 
in  the  room,  and  the  tresses  of  the  fairest  hair  droop  languish- 
in  gly  on  your  shoulder;  the  tips  of  those  delicate  fingers  may 
tremble  within  your  own,  but  this  does  not  authorize  you  to 

know  Madame  de on  the  Boulevards,  unless  with  her 

permission.  The  men  of  fashion  fly  from  one  salon  to  another 
on  the  same  night — at  home  with  every  one — dancing  here, 
conversing  there,  music  at  one,  whist  at  another  ;  but  once  in 
the  street,  arid  their  memory  of  all  but  their  associates  is  at 
once  steeped  in  Lethe.  And  this  is  as  it  should  be.  "While 
in  society,  each  contributes  his  individual  quota  to  the  general 
enjoyment ;  while  out,  resuming  his  individual  liberty  and  re 
tirement.  How  awkwardly  is  this  managed  in  the  United 
Htates,  where  an  introduction  must  follow  every  casual  en 
counter,  and  mortal  offense  be  taken  at  subsequent  neglects, 
or  forgetfulness  of  names  which  no  memory  of  less  capacity 
tii an  a  Biographical  Dictionary  can  possibly  retain.  With  a 
surplus  of  political  freedom,  there  is  less  social  liberty  among 
Americans  than  any  other  nation. 


Paris  is  pre-eminently  the  city  of  shopping.  An  entire  na 
tion  caters  to  the  vagaries  of  taste  of  a  world,  and  this  capital 
has  become  the  grand  magazine  where  centres  every  commod 
ity  luxury  or  necessity  can  devise.  I  can  not,  in  conscience, 
add  comfort,  as  this  essential  ingredient  of  human  happiness, 
in  the  domestic  Anglo-Saxon  sense,  is  but  imperfectly  under 
stood.  It  follows,  then,  that  if  shopping  has  attained  the  dig 
nity  of  a  passion  with  the  fairer  portion  of  humanity,  as  no 
husband,  I  opine,  will  be  inclined  to  dispute,  the  shop-keeper's 
duties  have  equally  bloomed  into  an  art  •  a  truth  no  wife  will 
gainsay  whose  experience  has  been  gained  in  this  quarter. 
Napoleon  reproached  the  English  with  being  a  nation  of  shop 
keepers,  and  the  eagerness  of  their  descendants  in  the  pursuit 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  91 

of  the  dust  or  dollar  has  passed  into  a  proverb  throughout  the 
world.  But  with  either  nation  it  is  accompanied  by  an  ener 
gy  of  purpose  and  general  integrity  that  raises  their  mercan 
tile  character  far  above  that  of  France.  The  love  of  the  dol 
lar  there  is  quite  as  strong  and  universal,  and  the  modes  of 
securing  it  more  diversified  and  ruinous  to  the  conscience  than 
in  England  or  the  United  States.  In  love,  success  has  been, 
since  creation,  the  first  article  of  Cupid's  creed,  and  "  all's  fair 
in  war"  is  an  axiom  common  to  every  belligerent.  To  best 
describe  the  general  trading  character  of  France,  I  should  fuse 
these  two  principles  into  one  sentiment.  So  universal  is  this 
feeling  of  distrust  and  expectation  of  being  defrauded,  that  it 
has  resulted  in  the  establishment  of"  shops  of  confidence,"  as 
exceptions  to  the  universal  rule.  Some  are  all  they  pretend 
to  be,  while  others  have  adopted  the  title,  as  many  hypocrites 
profess  religion,  as  so  much  additional  capital  of  character. 
Travelers  complain  of  the  extortions  of  the  Bedouins  of  th.e 
Desert,  but  they  have  far  more  reason  to  complain  of  the  pub 
licans  and  tradespeople  of  Paris,  although  in  most  instances 
the  fleecing  is  so  adroitly  disguised  by  complimentary  false 
words  or  lies  of  interest,  that  the  particular  operative  is  per 
ceived  only  in  the  general  depletion  of  the  purse.  Parisians 
themselves  bewail  the  general  corruption  of  their  trading  coun 
trymen,  and  propensity  to  deceive  strangers,  as  a  short-sighted 
policy,  by  no  means  conducive  to  the  true  prosperity  of  their 
city.  It  is  a  sad  truth  that  the  standard  of  mercantile  honor 
among  the  class  referred  to  is  lamentably  low.  In  purchasing 
articles  with  the  intention  of  sending  them  to  the  United 
States,  I  have,  with  scarcely  an  exception,  been  asked  by  the 
sellers  if  I  did  not  wish  a  false  invoice  made  out  for  the  cus 
tom-house.  This  sort  of  cheating  seems  to  be  expected  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

But  that  which  foreign  ladies  are  called  upon  to  experience 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


is  of  a  different  character,  and  requires  a  combination  of  art 
and  talent  which  leaves  far  in  the  rear  the  "  cuteness"  of  the 
Yankee.  The  character  of  the  customer  is  known  the  moment 
her  foot  enters  the  shop  door.  Her  purse,  desires,  fantasies, 
weaknesses,  and  intentions  are  generally  read  at  once  by  the 
experienced  caterer  to  the  wants  and  vanities  of  female  life. 
If  not  read,  they  are  decoyed  on  until  the  desired  knowledge 
is  extracted.  A  lady  may  enter,  presuming  she  has  sense, 
tastes,  and  opinions  of  her  own,  and,  ten  to  one,  she  leaves 
doubly  fortified  in  this  opinion,  while  the  flattery  and  deceit 
ful  eloquence  of  the  clerk  has,  in  reality,  been  her  only  guide 
in  purchasing  twofold  more  than  she  originally  intended. 
A  rich  English  or  American  woman  is  the  most  desirable 

game  for  these  Talleyrands 
of  the  counter.  Balzac 
delightfully  hits  ofT  the 
purse  -  bred  nonchalance 
and  counterfeit  phlegm 
of  the  one,  and  the  di 
plomacy  of  the  other,  in  a 
sketch  which  is  so  true  to 
life  that  I  can  not  better 
illustrate  this  species  of 
"shopping"  than  by  giv 
ing  the  pith  of  it. 

An  English  woman  en 
ters  No.  —  Rue  de . 

The  clerk  approaches  her  : 
"  Does  Madame  wish  an 
India  or  French  shawl  ? 
high  price  or — " 

"  I  will  look  at  them." 
"What  sum  does  Madame  consecrate  to  the  purchase  ?" 


A    PARIS   SALESMAN. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  93 

"  I  will  look  at  them,"  coldly  scanning  the  clerk  through 
her  glass. 

"  Here  are  our  finest  qualities  in  red,  blue,  and  orange. 
These  are  ten  thousand  francs.  Here  are  some  at  three  and 
five  thousand." 

The  English  woman  examines  them  with  indifference.  "  You 
have  others?" 

"  Yes,  Madame  ;  but  perhaps  Madame  has  not  yet  decided 
to  take  a  shawl?" 

"Oh,  very  decided." 

The  clerk  disappears,  and  quickly  returns  with  shawls  of  an 
inferior  price.  "  These,"  says  he,  displaying  them  with  great 
care  and  solemnity,  at  the  same  time  giving  an  almost  imper 
ceptible  but  significant  glance  at  his  fellow-clerks,  "  these  have 
not  yet  been  displayed.  They  were  brought  by  couriers  di 
rectly  from  the  manufacturers  of  Lahore." 

"  Ah  !  I  understand.  These  suit  me  better.  What  is  the 
price  of  this  one  in  blue  ??t 

"  Seven  thousand  francs." 

She  puts  it  on,  looks  at  herself  in  the  glass,  returns  it,  sim 
ply  remarking,  "  I  do  not  like  it."  Half  an  hour  passes  in  sim 
ilar  fruitless  essays. 

"  We  have  nothing  more,  Madame,"  says  the  clerk,  looking 
at  the  head  of  the  establishment. 

"  Madame  is  difficult,  as  are  all  persons  of  true  taste,"  re 
marks  the  chief,  as  he  advances  toward  her  with  all  the  graces 
of  the  shop  concentrated  in  his  manner.  "  I  have  still  one 
shawl  which  has  never  been  shown.  No  one  has  found  it  to 
their  taste ;  it  is  very  bizarre,  and  this  very  morning  I  pro 
posed  to  give  it  to  my  wife.  We  have  had  it  since  1805.  It 
belonged  to  the  Empress  Josephine." 

"  Let  me  see  it,  sir." 

"  Go  and  fetch  it,"  orders  the  chief  to  his  clerk.  "  It  is  at 
my  house." 


94  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  it,"  remarks  the  English  woman. 

"  It  cost  sixty  thousand  francs  in  Turkey,  Madame." 

" Indeed !" 

"  It  is  one  of  the  seven  shawls  sent  by  Selim,  before  his 
catastrophe,  to  the  Ernperor  Napoleon.  The  Empress  Jose 
phine,  a  Creole,  as  my  lady  knows,  and  very  capricious,  ex 
changed  it  for  one  brought  here  by  the  Turkish  ernbassador, 
arid  purchased  by  my  predecessor.  I  have  never  found  a  price 
for  it,  for  in  France  our  women  are  not  rich  enough.  It  is  not 
so  in  England.  Here  it  is,  Madame." 

The  chief  opens,  with  a  little  key,  a  square  cedar  box,  the  sim 
ple  form  of  which  makes  a  profouud  impression  upon  the  lady. 
From  this  box,  neatly  folded  up  in  black  satin,  he  produces  a 
shawl  worth  about  fifteen  hundred  francs,  yellow  as  gold,  with 
black  designs,  of  most  extraordinary  ugliness  and  oddity. 

"  Splendid  !"  exclaims  the  lady  ;  "  it  is  truly  beautiful.  It 
is  my  very  ideal  of  a  shawl." 

"  The  Emperor  Napoleon  admired  it  greatly." 

"It  is  very  beautiful,  fine,  sweet !"  exclaims  the  English 
woman,  as  the  chief  artfully  and  gracefully  assists  her  to  try 
it  on.  "  Have  you  another?" 

"  I  have  one  very  fine,"  tranquilly  replies  the  chief.  "  It 
came  to  me  from  a  Russian  princess,  the  Princess  NarzikofF, 
who  left  it  in  payment  for  furnishings  for  her  house.  If  Ma 
dame  wishes  to  see  it,  she  will  find  it  a  marvel  of  beauty.  It 
is  entirely  new — has  not  been  unpacked.  There  is  not  its 
equal  in  Paris." 

"  I  wish  much  to  examine  it." 

It  is  produced  with  even  more  mystery  than  the  other,  and 
the  two  shawls,  worth  three  thousand  francs,  are  sold  for  six 
thousand.  The  chief  quietly  selects  another  from  his  stock  of 
old  ones,  to  play  anew  the  role  of  the  Selim  shawl  in  the  cedar 
box,  and  patiently  awaits  the  next  English  amateur  of  shawls. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    GRISETTES    OF    PARIS. 

WHO  has  not  heard  of  the  Parisian  grisette  ?  Yet  who  can 
correctly  describe  her?  She  is  as  distinctive  a  feature  of  its 
civilization  as  is  slavery  of  our  Southern  States.  Without 
childhood  or  age,  whence  comes  she,  and  whither  does  she  go  ? 
We  always  see  her,  as  the  bee,  busily  gathering  honey  for  her 
little  hive,  or  like  the  moth,  scorching  her  wings  in  the  flame 
that  is  destined,  before  long,  to  consume  her.  Sterne  would 
have  us  believe  that  she  is  pretty,  but  there  is  a  vast  difference 
between  a  beautiful  woman  and  a  pretty  grisette.  The  former 
may  imitate  the  grisette,  but  the  grisette  can  never  become 
the  fine  woman.  She  must  live  and  disappear  a  grisette.  I 
do  not  say  that  she  is  born  one,  for  I  fancy  her  origin  can,  in 
general,  be  traced  to  those  state  nurseries,  the  foundling  hos 
pitals,  and  her  disappearance  into — God  knows  what ;  but  I 
am  fearful  that  the  hospitals  can  disclose  a  fearful  tale,  and 
the  river  record  many  a  fatal  leap.  Those  who  survive  these 
dangers  subside  sometimes  into  delving  matrimony,  but  oftener 
into  that  class  of  laborious,  repulsive-looking  females,  who  eke 
out  a  wretched  existence  in  the  highways  and  byways  of  Paris. 
But  it  is  only  of  the  grisette  proper  that  I  would  speak,  without 
whom  the  Q,uartier  Latin,  Chaumiere,  and  the  modiste's  shop 
would  equally  be  blanks,  and  the  student's  life  a  dull  level  of 
dry  study.  My  fair  readers  must  not  suppose  that  I  am  intro 
ducing  to  their  notice  an  entirely  unworthy  class  of  their  sex. 
Far  from  it.  Their  faults  are  more  the  result  of  their  misfor- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


THE   GRISETTE. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  97 


tunes  than  their  depravity.  They  are  the  peculiar  growth  of 
Paris,  and  are  no  more  to  be  blamed  for  their  existence  than 
the  wild  flowers  that  bloom  but  to  die  in  the  swamp  or  desert. 
Would  you  censure  them  because  they  have  known  no  homes, 
or  have  been  cradled  only  in  a  hospital,  to  be  thrust  in  all  their 
young  beauty  upon  the  world  as  soon  as  their  fingers  can  earn 
the  scanty  measure  of  wine  and  bread  that  they  call  food  ? 
If,  then,  this  be  their  destiny,  is  it  surprising  that  the  ephemer 
al  constancy  of  a  student  or  clerk  should  be  to  them  domestic 
bliss,  or  the  excitement  of  the  dance  and  revel  fill  hours  which 
would  otherwise  be  heavy  with  despair?  Even  in  their  un- 
sanctioned  ties  they  have  often  solaced  many  a  heart  and  sus 
tained  many  a  head  that  have  later  in  life  won  honor  for  them 
selves  and  credit  for  their  nation.  Judge  them,  then,  not  too 
harshly.  If  their  faults  outweigh  yours,  it  is  not  so  certain  but 
that  their  virtues  may  also.  At  all  events,  hear  before  you 
strike. 

The  dress  of  a  grisette  is  an  indescribable  mixture  of  care 
less  neatness,  perfectly  charming  in  the  tout  ensemble,  mod 
estly  displaying  the  advantages  of  a  good,  or  skillfully  conceal 
ing  the  defects  of  a  bad  figure.  Their  bonnets,  when  they 
mount  them,  are  coquettish  morsels  of  pasteboard,  covered 
with  some  fanciful  stuff,  and  jauntily  fitting  on  the  back  of 
their  heads,  leaving  the  sides  and  front  exposed.  Their  pret- 
tiness  is  in  their  easy  air  of  well-bred  assurance  and  laughing 
features  rather  than  in  any  regular  pretensions  to  beauty.  The 
privations  of  their  eccentric  existence  are  opposed  to  much 
true  delicacy  of  outline.  Their  male  friends  estimate  their 
virtues  in  the  ratio  of  their  fidelity,  good  figure,  graceful  danc 
ing,  and  ability  to  withstand  tobacco  smoke.  I  can  not  better 
picture  the  class  than  by  giving  a  few  episodes  of  their  usual 
lives. 

Nanette  and  Fidele,  two  belles  in  their  way,  are  at  a  stu- 

E 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


dents'  supper.  It  is  long  and  gay.  The  earnings  and  allow 
ance  of  months  are  exhausted  in  as  many  hours.  The  mes 
sieurs  commence  with  filling  the  chamber  with  smoke,  in 
which  operation  Nanette  assists.  Fidele  proposes  to  relate 


an  adventure.     Her  intention  is  applauded,  and  silence  suc 
ceeds  the  noisy  chat. 

"  You  know  my  two    friends,  Blanchette    and   Rouge tte. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


Well,  we  three  went  to  the  Odeon  the  other  night  to  see  the 
new  tragedy.  Rougette  had  just  inherited  from  her  grand 
mother  four  hundred  francs,  which  made  us  all  feel  like  so 
many  Rothschilds — I  mean  as  rich.  "VVe  took  a  pit  box. 
Three  students  were  in  the  parterre,  who  took  it  into  their 
heads  to  invite  us  to  supper,  under  the  pretext  that  we  were 
alone  ;  so,  without  staying  out  the  piece,  we  adjourned  to  Vi- 
ot's  with  our  unknown  cavaliers.  The  gallon  at  first  insisted 
that  they  had  nothing,  doubtful,  I  suppose,  of  the  depth  of  our 
purse  ;  but  Rougette,  who  knew  his  ways,  took  the  pen  and 
ordered  a  regular  marriage  supper.  Our  self-made  beaux  made 
a  slight  face  at  this,  but  could  not  object  with  decency,  you 
know. 

"  It  was  soon  brought  on — a  supper  good  enough  for  a  bride 
from  St.  Germain.  We  then  commenced  to  play  the  fastidious 
ladies.  Nothing  was  good.  Hardly  was  one  dish  brought  be 
fore  we  sent  it  back  and  ordered  another.  '  Boy,  take  away 
this  ,  it  is  intolerable.  Where  have  you  learned  to  make  such 
horrors  ?'  Ortolans  fared  no  better  than  omelets.  Our  un 
known  friends  wished  to  eat,  but  we  were  too  dainty  to  allow 
them  time  for  that.  Briefly,  we  grew  uproarious,  and  smash 
ed  a  lot  of  the  dishes. 

"  Our  fun  was  now  at  its  height.  We  could  hear  our  three 
gallants  whispering  to  each  other  to  know  how  they  were  to 
pay  for  our  follies.  One  had  but  six  francs,  another  still  less, 
and  the  third  only  his  watch,  which  he  generously  drew  from 
his  pocket.  Their  only  remedy  seemed  to  be  to  leave  us  in 
pledge.  After  the  sample  we  had  given  of  our  habits,  Viot 
would  have  been  glad  to  escape  such  security.  In  this  state 
of  mind,  they  presented  themselves  at  the  bar  to  negotiate 
some  delay.  What  do  you  think  they  replied  to  them  ?" 

"  We  can't  say,  with  such  treacherous  guests  as  you  to  pro 
vide  for." 


100         PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

"  I  will  tell  you.  Rougette,  before  entering  the  cabinet, 
had  paid  all  in  advance.  Imagine,  then,  their  surprise  at  the 
answer  of  Viot, '  Sirs,  it  is  paid.'  Our  three  unknown  friends 
looked  at  us  as  three  dogs  regard  three  bishops,  with  a  piteous 
stupefaction  that  was  perfectly  delightful.  Feigning  not  to 
notice  it,  we  left  the  restaurant  and  ordered  a  carriage.  *  My 
dear  Marquise,'  said  Rougette  to  me,  *  we  must  conduct  these 
gentlemen  home.'  '  Willingly,  my  dear  Countess,'  I  replied. 
They  declined,  but  we  were  inexorable.  They  refused  to  give 
their  address,  but  we  knew  that  they  lived  in  the  street  of  the 
'  cat  that  fishes.'  Escorting  them  to  their  lodgings,  we  wished 
them  good-night,  firmly  believing  that  they  were  intrigued  by 
women  of  fashion/' 

Thus,  for  the  pleasure  of  mystifying  three  green  students, 
Rougette  threw  away  in  one  night  a  sum  sufficient  to  have 
supported  her  for  six  months. 

A  few  days  after,  Rougette,  deserted  by  a  wealthy  lover,  re 
duced  to  despair,  and  weak  from  long  fasting,  threw  herself 
from  the  Pont  Ne»uf  into  the  river.  She  was  hauled  out  by  the 
heels  by  some  boatmen,  her  only  exclamation  being,  as  she 
came  to,  that  they  had  scraped  her  face  against  the  edge  of 
their  boat.  Another  of  her  class  looked  curiously  on  from  the 
quay,  audibly  moralizing  after  this  fashion :  "  And  there  are 
some  women  foolish  enough  to  drown  themselves  for  a  man ! 
Pshaw  !  a  man — a  thing  so  rare  !" 

Rougette  was  restored  only  to  consciousness  of  her  utter 
destitution  and  misery.  She  was  ill  besides.  One  of  her  sup 
per  companions  by  chance  learned  of  her  distress,  and,  with 
his  last  five  francs,  supplied  her  with  a  good  dinner,  which  she 
needed  more  than  medicine.  He  was  not  alone  in  his  char 
ity,  as  I  will  relate. 

Meeting  one  of  his  companions,  they  strolled  into  the  shop 
of  a  barber,  who,  besides  his  legitimate  business,  advanced 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          101 

money  on  articles  pawned,  chiefly  by  the  necessities  of  stu 
dents  and  grisettes.  Armand,  who  had  been  the  first  to  suc 
cor  Rougette,  had  dropped  in  to  pledge  his  cloak  to  pay  for  his 
own  dinner.  His  friend,  hearing  of  the  condition  of  Rougette, 
audibly  vented  his  indignation  against  her  heartless  compan 
ions,  with  whom  she  had  so  lately  sung  and  danced,  for  thus 
inhumanly  deserting  her.  The  barber,  who  had  been  atten 
tively  listening,  here  broke  in  :  "  Not  so  fast,  my  friend.  Step 
here.  You  are  too  severe.  I  know  Mademoiselle  Nanette  to 
be  a  most  excellent  person."  "  Yes,1'  replied  the  censor, 
"  when  it  is  a  matter  of  drinking  and  smoking."  "  Possibly," 
replied  the  barber ;  "  I  do  not  deny  it :  young  persons  must 
laugh,  sing,  and  smoke,  but,  for  all  that,  they  may  have  a  heart 
too.  Do  you  see  this  dress  ?"  said  he,  holding  up  a  thread- 
worn,  rusty  black  silk  robe.  They  knew  it  at  once  to  be  Nan 
ette's.  "  Yes,  this  is  her  only  robe,  and  she  has  borrowed  of 
me  four  francs  on  it,  that  she  may  succor  Rougette.  I  have 
had  it  often.  It  is  dear  at  that  price,  but  Nanette  never  fails 
to  redeem  it." 

Armand's  friend  felt  conscience-smitten.  To  make  amends, 
he  redeemed  the  robe,  and  took  it  under  his  arm,  and  pro 
posed  that  they  should  call  upon  Nanette.  We  shall  find  her 
in,  doubtless,  for  this  is  her  only  dress,  the  sole  relic  of  a 
better  position,  when  her  wardrobe  was  as  extensive  as  her 
credit. 

They  arrived  at  her  house  and  inquired  for  her.  "  Made 
moiselle,"  replied  the  porter,  "  has  gone  to  mass."  "  To 
church!"  exclaimed  Armand:  "it  is  impossible.  Let  us  en 
ter;  we  are  old  friends."  "I  assure  you  it  is  true,"  replied 
the  porter ;  "  she  has  been  gone  these  three  quarters  of  an 
hour.  She  goes  every  morning  to  the  church  of  St.  Sulpice 
for  her  devotions  *Look  !  there  she  is  returning.  You  can 
see  for  yourselves." 


102          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


True  enough,  there  was  Nanette  returning  from  the  church. 
Armand  hurried  to  her,  impatient  to  penetrate  the  mysteries 
of  her  toilet.  She  had  on  for  a  robe  a  petticoat  of  dark  blue 
calico,  half  hidden  under  a  window-curtain  of  green  serge, 
disposed  as  a  shawl ;  her  head  was  prettily  hid  in  her  white 
bonnet,  and  her  little  feet  covered  with  buskins.  She  had 
arranged  her  curtain  with  so  much  art  that  it  seemed  like 
an  old  shawl  with  the  fringe  hidden,  and,  even  in  this 
guise,  she  proved  conclusively  that  a  pretty  woman  is  always 
pretty. 

Alternating  thus  between  the  extremes  of  poverty  and  rev 
elry,  devotional  without  acquiring  true  wisdom,  charitable  in 
their  destitution,  and  reckless  in  their  prosperity  ;  attachable 
but  fickle,  susceptible  of  the  best  sentiments  of  the  heart,  yet 
priding  themselves  on  their  levity,  these  creatures,  like  summer 
swallows,  skim  along  the  surface  of  humanity,  occasionally 
tasting  its  joys,  more  frequently  its  miseries,  but  to  terminate 
their  checkered  existence  in  a  garret,  with  a  pot  of  flowers  on 
one  side,  a  crucifix  on  the  other,  and  straw  beneath  them,  cor 
rect  emblems  of  their  inconsistent  lives.  Do  they  ever  reflect, 
or  is  there  a  demon  attached  to  them  that  hurries  them  on 
from  one  folly  to  another  ?  Would  the  working  girls  of  Amer 
ica,  delivered  up  to  their  own  guidance,  without  counsel,  sup 
port,  or  a  home  to  shelter  them,  be  superior  to  their  sisters  of 
Paris  ?  Would  they  be  their  equals  in  industry,  neatness, 
charity,  and  cheerfulness  ?  We  hope  and  believe  so,  without 
their  habitual  lightness  and  prodigality,  which  savors  more  of 
nautical  than  feminine  tastes.  I  wish  I  could  add  that  the  ill 
ness  of  Rougette  had  brought  her  reformation.  But  with 
convalescence  beauty  came  back,  and  also  the  baron.  Her 
resources  were,  for  the  moment,  independent  of  the  needle, 
and  the  next  I  heard  of  Nanette  and  Rougette  was  that  they 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


103 


were  seen,  choking  with  laughter,  over  a  supper  fit  for  a  prince, 
in  a-private  cabinet  at  the  Maison  Doree. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    PRISONS    AND    PRISONERS    OF    PARIS. 

No  one  fails  to  visit  the  palaces  of  France.  The  pyramids 
of  Egypt  are  not  more  identified  with  the  history  of  the  world 
than  are  the  Louvre,  Versailles,  Tuileries,  Fontainebleau,  and 
St.  Cloud.  Each  has  played  an  important  part  in  the  annals 
of  this  empire,  and  they  now  imbody  its  long  series  of  tri 
umphs  of  art  and  civilization. 

To  comprehend  its  history,  it  is  necessary  to  explore  its  pal 
aces.  The  associations  of  long  and  troublesome  centuries 
cluster  densely  about  them.  To  enter  their  halls  is  to  lose 
sight  of  the  present  in  the  resurrection  of  the  past.  It  is  like 
retracing  the  track  of  time  step  by  step  ;  recalling  generation 
after  generation  of  kings,  courtiers,  and  subjects,  until  we  see 
once  more  the  legions  of  Gaul  forcing  the  imperial  sway  upon 
the  gifted  but  apostate  Julian. 

But  were  we,  as  is  usual,  to  confine  our  researches  only  to 
the  palaces,  we  should  obtain  but  an  imperfect  view  of  the 
glory  and  shame  of  France.  To  complete  the  picture,  it  is 
requisite  to  visit  its  prisons.  They  have  played  an  equally  in 
teresting  role  in  its  annals  ;  and  rich  as  the  palaces  undoubt 
edly  are  in  all  that  makes  history  attractive  and  instructive, 
the  prisons  are  no  less  rife  in  warnings  and  example.  Indeed, 
they  are  inseparably  connected  ;  for,  as  times  were,  no  palace 
could  exist  without  its  prison,  and  there  have  been  but  few 
of  the  builders  of  the  former  that  have  not,  at  some  interval  or 
other  of  their  career,  tasted  themselves  of  the  bitterness  of  the 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          105 

chains  and  confinement  they  prepared  for  others.  Louis  XVI., 
as  if  imbued  with  the  presentiment  that  he  one  day  would  be 
come  the  most  wretched  of  prisoners,  was  the  first  monarch 
who  deigned  seriously  to  interest  himself  in  the  improvement 
of  the  prisons.  At  that  time  Paris  alone  contained  thirty-two 
prisons  of  state.  Its  historians  have  represented  it  as  being 
a  nest  of  jails — a  truth  unfortunately  but  too  evident,  arising 
from  the  despotic  nature  of  its  feudal  institutions,  with  their 
numerous  civil  and  religious  communities,  each  possessing  dis 
tinct  jurisdictions,  and  rights  of  high  and  low  justice,  with  ed 
ifices  destined  to  receive  into  their  gloomy  cells  alike  the  in 
nocent  and  guilty,  so  that  aristocratic  interest  or  priestly  intol 
erance  justified  their  captivity. 

The  excesses  of  the  Revolution  of  1789  have  well-nigh  ob 
literated  the  remembrance  of  its  benefits.  Humanity,  how 
ever,  is  indebted  to  it  for  many  reforms  and  concessions  to 
natural  right  and  justice.  The  right  to  labor  was  formerly  a 
manorial  right,  granted  by  the  king  to  those  who  purchased  it. 
A  decree  of  1791,  for  the  first  time  since  France  was  a  king 
dom,  restored  to  Frenchmen  the  privileges  of  the  primeval 
curse,  and  they  now  all  possess  the  general  right  to  wring  the 
sweat  from  their  brows,  though  each  species  of  labor  is  still 
girt  about  with  a  network  of  restrictions. 

I  know  not  how  others  may  feel,  but  as  for  myself,  in  visit 
ing  the  nucleus  of  a  nation's  civilization,  I  am  not  content  with 
noting  only  its  external  glitter.  Palaces,  parks,  galleries,  and 
all  the  outer  show  of  luxury  and  refinement,  form  a  pleasing 
exhibition,  but,  if  the  view  extend  no  farther,  a  delusive  pic 
ture  of  the  actual  condition  of  the  people.  We  study  history 
to  ascertain  the  true  progress  of  man,  and  our  hopes  of  the  fu 
ture  are  modified  by  the  lessons  of  the  past.  It  is  not  enough 
that  we  see  history  only  in  the  garb  of  rank,  or  splendor  of  its 
palaces.  We  must  equally  seek  it  under  the  humble  raiment 

E  2 


106          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

of  the  laborer  in  his  hut  or  home,  and  in  the  prisons,  which, 
from  being  mere  citadels  of  private  revenge,  have  at  last  be 
come  places  of  detention  of  criminals  of  every  rank. 

The  prisons  of  Paris  are  now  reduced  to  eight,  under  hu- ' 
mane  and  enlightened  supervision.  These,  with  the  military 
jails,  are  the  sole  survivors  of  the  numerous  array  of  prisons 
that  were  at  once  the  disgrace  of  Paris  and  the  scourge  of  hu 
manity.  To  walk  its  streets  with  history  in  hand  is  to  stum 
ble  momentarily  over  rings  of  iron,  chains,  instruments  of  tor 
ture,  and  tumulary  stones,  the  cruel  debris  of  ceils  and  prisons. 
All  who  ruled — whether  kings,  lords,  bishops,  provosts,  or  cor 
porations  ;  even  the  holy  church,  bishops  and  monks — all  who 
in  any  way  had,  by  fraud,  violence,  or  even  talent,  raised  them 
selves  above  the  low  standard  of  humanity,  built  dungeons, 
and  stored  them  with  instruments  of  torture,  ostensibly  to  re 
press  crime,  but  in  reality  to  conserve  power  or  inflict  re 
venge. 

The  predecessor  of  the  present  chateau  of  the  Louvre  was 
a  political  dungeon.  Its  tower  was  called  by  Louis  XI.  "Le 
plus  beau  neuron  de  la  couronne  de  France;"  Le  Cloitre  Notre 
Dame  of  the  Church  of  Saint  Germain  1'Auxerrois  has  succeed 
ed  to  the  prisons  of  the  "  Bishop"  and  "  OfficialiteV'  The  Place 
du  Chatelet  echoed  often  to  the  groans  and  complaints  of  the 
prisoners  of  the  provosts  of  Paris  and  of  the  merchants  ,  while 
there  is  scarcely  a  religious  edifice  raised  upon  the  ruins  of  a 
monastery  that  has  not  its  foundations  in  an  ecclesiastical  dun 
geon.  Saint  Martin  des  Champs  was  a  prison ;  the  Saintc 
Chapelle  a  prison — Sainte  Genevieve  a  prison — Saint  Germain 
des  Pres  a  prison — Saint  Bcnoit  a  prison — The  Temple  a  pris 
on — Saint  Gervais  a  prison — Saint  Mery  a  prison ;  indeed, 
wander  where  you  will  in  old  Paris,  and  your  footsteps  are 
upon  the  remains  of  civil  or  religious  tyranny,  the  catacombs 
of  sectarian  or  political  hate,  but  now  exhibiting  only  temples 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          107 

of  the  Prince  of  Peace.  The  prison  has  disappeared  —  the 
church  remains.  Humanity  has  made  such  an  advance  that 
we  can  now  scarcely  credit  the  fact  that,  in  the  fourteenth  cen 
tury,  every  convent  and  monastery  had  a  subterranean  stone 
cell,  ironically  called  "  vade  in  pace ,"  into  which  the  victim  was 
let  down,  never  to  reappear  alive.  Sometimes  they  were  im 
mediately  starved  to  death,  but  generally  they  were  supplied 
with  coarse  food  by  means  of  a  basket  and  rope.  An  abbe  of 
Tulle  was  accustomed  to  mutilate  his  prisoners.  He  cut  off 
the  left  hand  of  a  man  who  had  appealed  to  the  Parliament 
against  him  for  having  cut  off  his  right  hand.  Such  was  the 
justice  and  humanity  of  the  Church  of  that  age. 

Yincennes,  from  a  palace,  was  converted  by  Louis  XI.  into  a 
prison  of  state,  and  has  continued  ever  since  to  retain  its  mon 
grel  character  of  fortress  and  dungeon.  It  is  the  legitimate 
successor  of  the  Bastile,  and  far  more  formidable  as  a  means 
of  offense  to  the  citizens  of  Paris  than  ever  was  that  fortifica 
tion,  yet,  under  the  superior  moral  power  of  modern  civiliza 
tion,  reduced  to  an  innocent  depot  of  munitions  of  war.  In  its 
"  donjon"  Charles  IX.  expired  in  torments  of  conscience  far 
more  terrible  than  those  of  the  rack.  Gladly  would  he  have 
exchanged  his  downy  bed  for  the  hole  in  the  stone  wall,  in  the 
"  Salle  de  la  Question,"  with  the  heavy  iron  chains  that  con 
fined  the  limbs  of  the  prisoner  while  he  was  subjected  to  the 
agonies  of  the  "  Question,"  could  he  by  so  doing  have  expiated 
by  sufferings  of  body  the  sins  of  his  soul.  But  no  :  the  night 
of  St.  Barthelemi  was  vividly  before  him.  He  wept,  he  shriek 
ed,  he  tore  himself,  he  groaned  and  sweated  in  his  agony,  but 
no  relief  came.  He  knelt  humbly  at  the  feet  of  the  queen- 
mother,  the  partner  and  stimulator  of  his  crimes.  He  asked 
pardon  of  the  King  of  Navarre,  and  with  clasped  hands  ex 
claimed,  "  Oh,  my  nurse  !  my  nurse  !  how  much  blood  !  how 
many  murders !  Ah !  I  have  followed  bad  counsel.  0  my 


108 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


God,  pardon  me — forgive — grant  me  mercy,  if  it  please  Thee  ! 
Oh,  nurse,  help — draw  me  from  this.  I  do  not  know  where 
I  am,  I  am  so  agitated,  so  confused  :  what  will  become  of  all 
this  ?  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  am  lost — I  know  it  well.  Oh, 
nurse,  nurse,  I  strangle — I  strangle!"  It  was  the  blood  of 
Coligny  and  forty  thousand  of  his  murdered  subjects  that  suf 
focated  him. 

His  ancestor,  Louis  XI.,  the  friend  of  the  bourgeoisie,  but  the 
tyrant  of  the  nobles,  took  a  peculiar  pleasure  in  torturing  his 
victims  of  rank.  He  shut  them  up  in  iron  cages,  and  earne 


LOUIS   XI.  VISITING   HIS   PRISONERS    AT   VINCENNES. 

often  to  interrogate,  accuse,  or  insult  them.  But,  with  all  his 
ingenuity  of  cruelty,  he  never  arrived  at  that  refinement  of  in 
humanity  which,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  doomed  the  pris- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          109 

oner  of  state,  who  had  become  dangerous  by  his  courage,  pa 
tience,  or  resignation,  to  the  treatment  of  a  maniac.  Such 
were  conducted  to  the  hospitals,  thrown  into  close  cells,  clad 
in  strait-jackets,  or  the  "  camisole  de  force, "bled,  and  subject 
ed  to  the  regimen  of  the  insane,  until  their  minds  were  extin 
guished  in  raging  despair  or  pitiful  imbecility. 

The  chapel  windows  of  Yincennes  contain  a  full-length  por 
trait  of  Diana  of  Poitiers,  the  beautiful  mistress  of  Henry  II., 
painted  by  his  order,  entirely  naked,  amid  a  crowd  of  celestial 
beings.  The  royal  ciphers  are  interlaced  with  her  silver  cres 
cent.  It  is  called  a  good  likeness,  and  is  readily  known  by 
the  blue  ribbons  with  which  her  hair  is  bound. 

Sainte  Pelagic  still  exists  as  a  prison,  the  most  ancient  of 
Paris,  and,  singularly  enough,  retains  upon  its  front  the  same 
appellation  by  which  it  was  formerly  known  as  an  asylum  for 
pious  women — the  spouses  of  Christ.  It  was  here  that  Mad 
ame  Roland  expiated  her  vain  theories  of  political  liberty,  that 
led  both  herself  and  Marie  Antoinette  to  the  scaffold.  Here 
Madame  du  Barri  shriekingly  resisted  her  executioners,  hav 
ing  incessantly  besought  Heaven,  during  her  imprisonment  of 
two  months,  to  prolong  a  life  still  covetous  of  the  pleasures  of 
the  world.  Within  its  walls  the  Empress  Josephine  received 
her  first  lesson  in  the  vicissitudes  of  fortune,  sustained  by  the 
prediction  that  promised  her  a  throne,  consoling  her  compan 
ions  in  misfortune  with  the  same  grace  that  won  for  her  in 
power  the  homage  of  all  hearts.  Later  it  became  a  prison  for 
debtors.  An  American  of  the  name  of  Swan  has  attached  a 
souvenir  to  its  dreary  wall  worthy  of  perpetual  remembrance. 
He  was  a  colonel  in  the  Revolutionary  army,  the  friend  and 
compatriot  of  Washington,  and  had  served  with  La  Fayette  in 
our  war  of  Independence.  Frequently  did  the  latter  bow  his 
white  hairs  beneath  the  wicket  of  the  jail  as  he  passed  through 
to  visit  his  old  brother  in  arms.  But  it  was  in  vain  that  he  or 


110          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


MADAME  DU  BARRI  LED  TO  EXECUTION. 


rich  friends  sought  to  prevail  upon  him  to  escape  from  this  re 
treat.  He  had  had  a  long  lawsuit  with  a  Frenchman,  and, 
having  lost  his  cause,  preferred  to  give  his  body  as  a  hostage 
to  paying  a  sum  which  he  believed  not  to  be  justly  due.  He 
was  arrested,  and  remained  twenty  years  in  confinement,  lodg 
ing  in  a  little  cell,  modestly  furnished,  upon  the  second  floor. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


Ill 


He  was  a  fine-looking  old  gentleman,  said  to  resemble  in  his 
countenance  Benjamin  Franklin.  The  prisoners  treated  him 
with  great  respect,  yielding  him  as  much  space  as  possible  for 
air  and  exercise,  clearing  a  path  for  him,  and  even  putting 
aside  their  little  furnaces,  upon  which  they  cooked  their  meals, 
at  his  approach,  for  fear  that  the  smell  of  charcoal  should  be 
unpleasant  to  him. 

He  had  won  their  love  by  his  considerate  and  uniform  be 
nevolence.  Not  a  day  passed  without  some  kind  act  on  his 
part,  often  mysterious  and  unknown  in  its  source  to  the  recip 
ient.  Frequently  a  poor  debtor  knocked  at  his  door  for  bread, 
and,  in  addition,  obtained  his  liberty.  Colonel  Swan  had 


COLONEL   SWAN    AT   THE    SAINTE    PELAGIK 


112          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES 

means,  but  he  applied  them  to  the  release  of  others  and  not 
of  himself.  Once  a  fellow-prisoner,  the  father  of  a  numerous 
family,  imprisoned  for  a  debt  of  a  few  hundred  francs,  applied 
to  be  received  into  his  service  at  six  francs  a  month.  Colonel 
Swan  had  lost  his  servant,  and  inquired  into  the  history  of  the 
new  candidate.  Upon  learning  it,  he  replied,  "I  consent;" 
and,  opening  his  trunk,  counted  out  a  pile  of  crowns,  saying, 
"  Here  are  your  wages  for  five  years  in  advance  ;  should  your 
work  prevent  you  from  coming  to  see  me,  you  can  send  your 
wife."  Such  deeds  were  often  renewed. 

One  creditor  only  retained  the  venerable  captive,  hoping 
each  year  to  see  his  resolution  give  way,  and  each  year  call 
ing  upon  him  with  a  proposal  for  an  accommodation.  The 
director  of  the  prison,  the  friends  of  Colonel  Swan,  even  the 
jailers,  urged  him  to  accept  the  proposed  terms,  and  be  re 
stored  to  his  country  and  family.  Politely  saluting  his  cred 
itor,  he  would  turn  toward  the  jailer,  and  simply  say,  "  My 
friend,  return  rrfe  to  my  chamber."  Toward  the  end  of  the 
year  1829,  his  physician  had  obtained  for  him  the  privilege  of 
a  daily  promenade  in  one  of  the  galleries  of  the  prison,  where 
he  could  breathe  a  purer  atmosphere  than  that  to  which  he 
had  long  been  subjected.  At  first  he  was  grateful  for  the  fa 
vor,  but  soon  said  to  the  doctor,  "  The  inspiriting  air  of  liberty 
will  kill  my  body,  so  long  accustomed  to  the  heavy  atmos 
phere  of  the  prison." 

The  revolution  of  July,  1830,  threw  open  his  prison  doors 
in  the  very  last  hour  of  his  twentieth  year  of  captivity.  After 
the  triumph  of  the  people,  he  desired  to  embrace  once  more 
his  old  friend  La  Fayette.  He  had  that  satisfaction,  upon  the 
steps  of  the  Hotel  de  Yille.  The  next  morning  he  was  dead. 

Clichy  has  succeeded  Sairite  Pelagic  as  a  debtors'  prison. 
To  the  rich  debtor  it  has  but  few  terrors,  though  the  law  01 
France  places  his  personal  freedom  at  the  disposition  of  his 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


113 


creditors.  Some  may,  like  Colonel  Swan,  refuse  to  pay  from 
principle,  others  from  whim  or  obstinacy.  Of  the  latter  was 
a  noble  Persian,  Nadir  Mirza  Shah.  Rich,  young,  arid  dissi 


pated,  he  plunged  into  every  species  of  foliy,  and  finally  flog 
ged  his  coachman,  who  summoned  him  before  the  civil  tribu 
nal,  which  sentenced  him  to  three  months'  imprisonment  and 
damages.  Refusing  to  pay,  he  was  confined  in  the  debtors' 


114          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


jail,  where  he  passed  some  time  carousing  with  his  friends 
and  voluntary  companions  in  captivity,  and  surrounding  him 
self  with  Oriental  luxury.  Mattresses  served  for  tables  and 
divans  ;  they  sat  a  la  Turque,  ate  with  their  fingers,  and,  for 
getting  the  Koran,  drank  wine  like  Christians.  Nadir  Mirza 
Shah  was  as  intractable  in  requiring  of  his  companions  the 
rigid  observance  of  Persian  etiquette  as  he  was  in  refusing  to 
pay  the  damages  due  the  unlucky  coachman,  who,  in  his  eyes, 
was  simply  a  dog  of  an  infidel. 

Clichy  possesses  a  rich  fund  of  individual  eccentricities  and 
curipus  anecdotes,  such  as  only  Parisian  life  can  develop.  In 
1838,  a  tailor  of  the  Rue  de  Holder  caused  the  Count  de 

B ,  a  noble  Dalmatian,  to  be   confined  for  a  debt  of  six 

thousand  francs.  lie  remained  five  years  in  prison,  passing 
the  entire  time  in  his  chamber.  Not  once  did  he  descend  into 
the  garden,  nor  did  he  ever  walk  in  the  corridors.  Whenever 
spoken  to,  he  replied  with  great  courtesy,  but  he  never  entered 
the  cells  of  his  companions,  or  invited  them  to  visit  him. 
During  the  five  years  of  his  imprisonment  he  was  not  once 
seen  to  open  a  book,  to  read  a  newspaper,  or  to  do  any  work 
whatever.  He  passed  entire  days  standing  before  his  win 
dow,  in  full  dress,  with  his  coat  buttoned  to  his  throat.  His 
linen  had  given  out,  but  his  boots  were  scrupulously  polished 
each  morning  by  a  fellow-prisoner.  He  never  bathed,  but 
his  handsome  black  beard  was  always  carefully  combed  and 
perfumed  as  if  he  was  going  to  a  ball.  Two  letters  only 
reached  him,  and  two  visitors  only  called  during  these  five 
years. 

The  first  time,  about  two  years  after  his  incarceration,  his 
creditor  appeared  at  the  wicket,  and  the  following  conversa 
tion  ensued  : 

"  Monsieur  Count,  you  have  done  me  the  honor  to  send  for 
me  ;  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          115 

"  Sir,  I  have  exhausted  my  personal  resources  ;  a  gentleman 
like  myself  can  not  live  on  the  prison  allowance  of  sixteen  sous 
per  day.  Since  you  believe  me  good  for  six  thousand  francs, 
I  will  pay  you  a  greater  sum  when  I  have  sold  my  estates  in 
Dalmatia." 

"  That  appears  just,  Monsieur  Count :  how  much  do  you  de 
sire  ?" 

"  I  wish  fifty  francs  a  month." 

"  You  shall  have  them.  I  am  too  happy  to  be  useful  to  you. 
Is  that  all  you  desire  ?" 

"  Absolutely  all;  and  I  am  very  grateful  to  you." 

"  Do  not  speak  of  that,  I  beg  of  you  ;  I  am  your  servant,  my 
dear  Monsieur  Count." 

During  three  years  the  fifty  francs  a  month  were  regularly 
supplied  by  the  tailor. 

In  1843  the  tailor  reappeared,  followed  by  two  porters  car 
rying  a  heavy  trunk. 

"  Monsieur  Count,"  said  he,  "  I  have  received  the  letter  with 
which  you  honored  me,  and  I  accept  your  propositions.  I 
place  you  at  liberty,  and  I  have  brought  you  effects  suitable  to 
your  rank.  You  will  find,  also,  a  watch,  chain,  pins,  rings,  eye 
glass — every  thing  of  the  best  description.  Here  is  a  purse  of 
five  hundred  francs  in  gold  for  the  fifteen  days  that  you  desire 
to  pass  in  Paris  for  relaxation.  These  five  hundred  francs  are 
for  your  petty  expenses,  for  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  pay  in 
advance  for  an  apartment  and  domestic  at  your  orders  in  the 
Hotel  des  Princes.  My  notary  is  coming,  and  we  will  arrange 
the  security  for  all  my  advances,  now  amounting  to  eighteen 
thousand  francs,  to  which  it  will  be  necessary  to  add  three 
thousand  francs  that  I  shall  give  my  clerk,  who,  at  the  expira 
tion  of  the  fortnight,  will  post  to  Dalmatia  with  you,  paying 
your  joint  expenses,  and  bringing  me  back  my  money." 

The  contract  was  duly  signed,  and  the  release  given.     The 


110          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

Count  faithfully  amused  himself  during  his  carnival  of  fifteen 
days,  according  to  his  stipulation.  On  the  sixteenth  he  left 
with  the  clerk,  who  never  had  made  a  more  agreeable  journey  ; 
but  on  his  return  he  was  obliged  to  announce  to  the  munifi 
cent  tailor  that,  owing  to  previous  incumbrances  on  the  estates 
of  the  Count,  it  was  extremely  doubtful  whether  he  would  ever 
receive  a  hundred  crowns  for  his  twenty-one  thousand  francs. 
Imprisonment  for  debt,  like  most  cruel  remedies  for  social 
misfortunes,  seldom  attains  the  desired  end.  An  honest  man 
will  pay  if  he  can ;  a  dishonest  one  can  evade  justice  even 
within  prison  walls  ;  and  for  the  unfortunate  it  becomes  a 
double  evil.  It  was  powerless  to  open  Colonel  Swan's  purse, 
because  its  strings  were  tied  by  principle.  It  was  equally  fu 
tile  in  contact  with  the  obstinacy  of  Nadir  Mirza  Shah,  who 
preferred  his  prejudices  to  his  freedom,  and  chose  rather  to 
carouse  in  the  cell  of  a  jail  than  to  wound  his  pride  by  paying 
a  fine  which  would  have  transferred  his  festivity  to  a  palace. 
The  tailor  shut  up  the  count  in  close  confinement  for  five  years 
for  six  thousand  francs,  and  at  the  end  of  the  time  was  swin 
dled  by  him  out  of  twenty-one  thousand.  These  cases  are 
characteristic  of  a  large  class.  But  the  pains  and  penalties  of 
incarceration  fall  heaviest  on  the  poor  debtors,  whom  misfor 
tune  has  pursued  with  a  heavy  hand  until  they  are  left  pow 
erless  for  exertion  in  the  grasp  of  avarice,  or  withered  in  heait 
and  mind  by  the  exactions  of  inflexible  severity.  The  race  of 
Shylocks  will  never  expire  except  with  the  razing  of  dungeons 
for  debtors.  The  thoroughly  vicious  are  seldom  caught.  To 
the  unfortunate  it  becomes  a  living  tomb.  Respectability  is 
blighted,  enterprise  chained,  the  mind  paralyzed,  and  the  poor 
debtor  is  reduced  to  a  chrysalis  state.  He  is  fortunate  if  his 
better  qualities  and  intelligence  are  not  extinguished  in  the 
heavy  atmosphere  of  his  cell,  or  transformed  into  mischievous 
tendencies  or  reckless  desires,  while  his  destitute  family  are 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          117 

left  a  prey  to  vice  or  want.  Clichy,  from  its  first  days,  has 
been  stained  with  the  blood  of  suicides,  and  haunted  with  the 
ravings  of  maniacs.  One  poor  workman,  who  had  seen  sold 
for  a  debt  of  three  hundred  francs  his  humble  furniture,  and 
even  the  clothes  of  himself  and  his  wife  and  infants,  was  here 
confined,  after  being  divested  of  every  thing  but  his  naked 
arms  wherewith  he  could  gain  a  subsistence  for  his  family. 
By  what  process  these  were  to  supply  them  with  food,  and  to 
pay  his  debt  when  confined  between  the  stone  walls  of  a  cell, 
none  but  a  bowelless  creditor  could  conceive.  Despair  over 
came  his  reason.  He  was  found  the  next  morning  covered 
with  gore,  and  the  name  of  his  creditor  traced  with  a  bloody 
hand  on  the  walls  of  his  cell. 

Confinement  for  debt  is  bad  enough  of  itself,  but  in  France 
it  is  aggravated  by  unnecessary  restrictions  and  a  penurious 
aliment.  The  law  allows  eighteen  cents  a  day  for  the  debtor's 
subsistence,  or  thirty  francs  a  month,  which  he  is  obliged  to 

divide  daily  as  follows  : 

Cents. 

Hire  of  furniture 5 

The  right  to  warm  his  feet  at  a  common  fire 1 

Barber 1 

Washing 2 

Light 1 

Food _8 

18 

Such  are  the  resources  of  the  poor  debtors.  What  propor 
tion  of  these  can  be  withdrawn  for  families  it  would  puzzle 
the  wants  of  even  a  Liliputian  to  decide.  The  number  annu 
ally  confined  in  Clichy  is  580  to  600,  of  whom  about  one  fourth 
are  single  persons,  and  over  two  thirds  have  children.  Wives 
are  separated  from  husbands  by  being  confined  in  a  separate 
building.  They  are  allowed  no  intercourse,  except  in  a  com 
mon  parlor,  in  the  presence  of  a  guardian. 


118          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

Another  anomalous  feature  of  this  system  is,  that  the  di 
rector  of  the  prison  becomes  pecuniarily  responsible  in  case  of 
the  escape  of  one  of  his  prisoners.  This  is  rarely  attempted, 
as  the  chances  of  final  escape  are  very  limited  in  a  city  like 
Paris.  Mr.  G.,  one  of  the  directors,  said  to  the  Prefect  of  the 
Police,  who  had  reminded  him  of  his  pecuniary  responsibility, 
"  T  am  able  to  respond  for  a  few  thousand  francs,  and  I  should 
satisfy  the  obligation  if  the  debt  was  small ;  but  if,  notwith 
standing  my  vigilance,  a  debtor  of  a  hundred  thousand  francs 
should  escape,  I  should  open  immediately  the  gates  to  all  oth 
ers.  It  is  as  well  to  be  responsible  for  several  millions  as  for 
a  hundred  thousand  francs,  if  one  can  no  more  pay  the  lesser 
sum  than  the  greater." 

It  is  a  significant  fact  in  the  annals  of  imprisonment  for  debt 
in  the  Department  of  the  Seine,  that  of  2566  debtors  discharged 
during  six  years,  307  only  owe  their  enlargement  to  the  pay 
ment  of  their  debts. 

The  souvenirs  of  the  prisons  of  Paris  include  the  history  of 
France.  It  were  well  if,  with  the  disappearance  of  the  walls 
of  La  Force,  all  its  deplorable  associations  could  have  been  as 
readily  erased.  Not  one  stone  of  the  Bastile  has  been  left 
upon  another.  A  column  of  liberty  announces  the  site  of  that 
fortress  of  tyranny  ;  yet  no  existing  prison  of  stone  and  mortar, 
with  its  iron  gates  and  gloomy  cells,  in  all  their  dreadful  real 
ity,  stands  half  so  conspicuous  to  the  eye  as  that  which  is  pal 
pable  to  the  imagination.  It  will  exist  as  the  emblem  of  tyr 
anny  through  all  ages,  and  yet  its  history  is  not  worse  than 
that  of  numerous  others.  Indeed,  democracy  owes  it  some 
gratitude  as  the  instrument  by  which  aristocracy,  in  accom 
plishing  its  selfish  designs,  often  avenged  upon  kindred  blood 
the  wrongs  of  the  people. 

The  dungeons  of  the  Abbaye  were  the  handicraft  of  monks. 
The  architect,  Gornard,  in  J  635,  completed  the  abbey,  but  re- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


119 


fused  to  build  the  prison.  He  carried  his  opposition  so  far  as 
to  prevent  any  laborers  from  engaging  in  the  work.  "  My 
brothers,"  cried  the  superior,  "  it  is  necessary  to  finish  what 
the  obstinacy  of  the  architect  refuses  to  achieve.  Let  us  put 
our  own  hands  to  the  work,  build  the  jail,  and  complete  our 
sacred  edifice."  The  brothers  obeyed. 


THE    MONKS    BUILDING    THE    ABBAYE    PRISON. 

In  those  days  every  spiritual  and  temporal  power  had  the 
privilege  of  placing  in  the  pillory  those  declared  culpable  by 
its  special  laws.  There  was  not  a  corporation  but  had  its  dis- 


120         PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

tinct  code,  judges,  executioners,  racks,  and  prisons.  The  old 
historian,  Sauval,  has  left  a  list  of  twenty-four  distinct  juris 
dictions  which  possessed  the  right  to  condemn  men  to  the  gal 
lows,  and  the  city  of  Paris  to-day  divided  into  numerous  mu 
nicipal  divisions,  had  then  for  the  limits  of  its  subdivisions  as 
many  gibbets.  The  discipline  of  the  Holy  Catholic  Church  of 
that  century  required  a  dungeon,  or  a  "  vade  in  pace,"  no  less 
than  its  faith  the  emblem  of  the  cross.  If  they  ever  abused 
their  power  by  the  persecution  of  the  innocent,  fearfully  did 
they  expiate  their  want  of  charity  in  the  slaughter  of  their 
brethren  on  this  very  spot,  on  the  2d  of  September,  1792. 
Externally  and  internally,  it  is  the  most  gloomy  of  all  the  pris 
ons  of  Paris.  It  contains  several  subterranean  dungeons,  the 
same,  perhaps,  on  which  the  old  monks  worked. 

It  was  here  that  Mademoiselle  de  Sombreuil  won  from  the 
murderers  of  September  the  life  of  her  father,  at  the  price  of 
drinking  a  glass  of  warm  blood  fresh  from  their  still  writhing 
victims. 

The  most  touching  souvenir  of  this  prison  is  that  of  the  ven 
erable  Gazette,  who  was  also  saved  by  his  daughter  under  cir 
cumstances  more  grateful  to  humanity  on  either  side.  The 
evening  before,  she  had  obtained  leave  to  remain  with  him, 
and  had,  by  her  beauty  and  eloquence,  interested  several  of 
his  guards  in  his  fate.  Condemned,  at  the  expiration  of  thirty 
hours  of  unremitting  slaughter,  he  stepped  forth  to  meet  his 
fate.  As  he  appeared  in  the  midst  of  his  assassins,  his  daugh 
ter,  pale  and  disheveled,  threw  her  arms  about  him,  exclaim 
ing,  "  You  shall  not  reach  my  father  except  through  my  heart !" 
A  cry  of  pardon  was  heard,  and  repeated  by  a  hundred  voices. 
The  murderers  allowed  her  to  lead  away  her  father,  and  then 
coolly  turned  to  recommence  their  work  of  slaughter  upon  less 
fortunate  prisoners. 

A  little  later,  Cazotte,  separated  from  his  daughter,  became 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          121 


MADEMOISELLE   DE    SOMBREUIL    SAVING   HER    FATHFR. 

the  victim  of  the  Revolution,  whose  excesses  he  had  so  faith 
fully  predicted.  The  sketch  by  La  Harpe  of  the  dinner-scene, 
in  which  his  prophecy  is  made  to  appear,  is  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  and  graphic  scenes  in  French  literature. 

"  It  seems  to  me  but  yesterday,''  says  La  Harpe,  "  and,  not 
withstanding,  it  was  the  commencement  of  1788.  We  were 
at  dinner  at  one  of  our  fellow-members  of  the  Academy,  a 
great  lord  and  wit.  The  company  was  numerous,  and  of  every 
class— -courtiers,  lawyers,  men  of  letters,  academicians,  &rc 
The  fare  was  rich,  according  to  custom.  At  the  dessert,  thr- 

F 


122          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

wines  of  Malvoisie  and  Constance  added  to  the  gayety  of  the 
company  that  sort  of  freedom  in  which  one  does  not  always 
guard  a  perfectly  correct  tone,  for  it  was  then  allowable  to  do  or 
say  any  thing  that  would  call  forth  a  laugh.  Chamfort  had  read 
to  us  his  impious  and  libertine  tales,  and  the  grand  ladies  had 
listened  without  even  having  recourse  to  a  fan.  Then  there 
arose  a  deluge  of  pleasantries  and  jokes  upon  religion  :  one 
cited  a  tirade  of  the  Pucelle  ;  another  recalled  the  philosophic, 
verses  of  Diderot.  The  conversation  became  more  serious. 
They  spoke  with  admiration  of  the  revolution  which  Voltaire 
had  made,  and  all  agreed  that  it  was  his  first  title  to  glory. 
'  He  has  given  a  book  to  his  century  which  is  read  as  well  in 
the  ante-chamber  as  the  salon.'  One  of  the  company  related 
to  us,  choking  with  laughter,  that  his  barber  had  said  to  him, 
as  he  was  powdering  him,  '  Do  you  see,  sir,  although  I  am 
but  a  miserable  hair-dresser,  I  have  no  more  religion  than  any 
one  else?'  They  all  concluded  that  the  Revolution  would  not 
be  slow  to  perfect  its  work  ;  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary 
that  superstition  and  fanaticism  should  yield  to  philosophy, 
and  that  all  they  had  to  do  was  to  calculate  the  epoch  when 
they  would  see  the  reign  of  reason. 

"  One  only  of  the  company  had  not  taken  part  in  the  levity  of 
the  conversation,  and  had  even  let  drop  quietly  some  pleasant 
ries  'upon  our  fine  enthusiasm.  It  was  Cazotte,  an  amiable  and 
original  man,  but,  unhappily,  infatuated  with  reveries  of  the 
future,  lie  took  up  the  conversation  in  a  serious  tone.  '  Mes 
sieurs,'  said  he,  '  be  content ;  you  will  all  see  this  grand  and 
sublime  revolution  that  you  desire  so  much  !  You  know  that  I  am 
somewhat  of  a  prophet :  I  repeat  it  to  you,  you  will  all  see  it !' 

"  Here  the  company  shouted  ;  they  joked  Cazotte  ;  they 
teased  him  ;  they  forced  him  to  foretell  of  each  what  he  knew 
in  this  coming  revolution.  Condorcet  was  the  first  that  pro- 
volrcd  him  ;  he  received  this  mortal  answer: 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          123 

'"Ah!  we  will  see,'  said  Coridorcet,  with  his  saturnine, 
mocking  air  ;  '  a  philosopher  is  not  sorry  to  encounter  a  proph 
et.'  '  You,  Monsieur  de  Condorcet/  replied  Cazotte, '  you  will 
expire  extended  upon  the  pavement  of  a  cell ;  you  will  die  by 
poison  which  you  will  have  taken  to  cheat  the  executioner — 
the  poison  which  the  happiness  of  that  time  will  force  you  al 
ways  to  carry  about  you.'" 

They  were  somewhat  astonished  at  this  species  of  pleas 
antry,  spoken  in  so  serious  a  tone,  but  soon  began  to  reassure 
themselves,  knowing  that  the  good  man  Cazotte  was  subject 
to  dreams.  This  time  it  was  Chamfort  that  returned  to  the 
charge  with  a  laugh  of  sarcasm.  He  received  an  answer  in 
his  turn. 

"  You,  Monsieur  Chamfort,  you  will  cut  your  veins  with 
twenty-two  strokes  of  the  razor,  and,  notwithstanding,  you  will 
not  die  until  some  months  after." 

Then  it  was  the  turn  of  Yicq  d'Azir,  M.  de  Nicolai,  De  Bail- 
ly,  De  Malesherbes,  De  Roucher,  all  of  whom  were  present. 
Each  who  touched  Cazotte  received  a  shock  in  return,  and 
each  shock  was  a  thunder-stroke  that  killed  him.  The  word 
scaffold  was  the  perpetual  refrain. 

"  Oh  !  it's  a  wager,"  cried  they  on  all  sides  ;  "  he  has  sworn 
to  exterminate  us  all."  "  No,  it  is  not  I  that  have  sworn  it." 
"But  shall  we  then  be  subjected  by  the  Turks  or  Tartars?" 
"  Not  at  all ;  I  have  already  told  you.  You  will  then  be  gov 
erned  by  the  only  philosophy,  by  the  only  reason." 

The  turn  of  La  Harpe  arrived,  although  he  had  purposely 
kept  himself  somewhat  apart. 

"  Plenty  of  miracles,"  said  he,  at  length,  "  and  you  put  noth 
ing  down  to  me."  "You  will  see  there"  (replied  Cazotte  to 
him)  "  a  miracle  not  the  least  extraordinary  :  you  will  then 
become  a  Christian." 

At  this  word  Christian,  in  such  an  assembly  of  scoffers,  one 


124          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

can  imagine  the  exclamations  of  laughter,  mockery,  and  deri 
sion. 

"Ah!"  replied  Chamfort,  "  I  am  reassured:  if  we  are  not 
to  perish  until  La  Harpe  becomes  a  Christian,  we  shall  be  im 
mortal." 

Then  came  the  turn  of  the  ladies.  The  Duchess  of  Gram- 
mont  took  up  the  conversation. 

"  As  for  that,"  said  she,  "  we  are  very  happy,  we  women,  to 
pass  for  nothing  in  the  revolutions.  "When  I  say  nothing,  it  is 
not  that  we  do  not  mix  a  little  in  them ;  but  it  is  understood 
that  they  do  not  take  notice  of  us  and  our  sex."  "  Your  sex, 
Madame"  (it  was  Cazotte  who  spoke),  "  will  be  no  defense  this 
time.  It  will  be  in  vain  that  you  do  not  mingle  in  them  ;  you 
will  be  treated  as  men,  without  any  distinction  whatever." 

One  can  readily  conceive  the  finale  of  this  dialogue.  Here 
it  became  more  and  more  dramatic  and  terrible.  Cazotte  ar 
rived  by  steps  to  cause  greater  ladies  than  duchesses  to  feel 
that  they  would  go  to  the  scaffold — princesses  of  the  blood, 
and  even  more  exalted  rank  than  the  princesses  themselves. 
This  passed  being  a  play.  All  pleasantry  ceased. 

"  You  will  see" — another  essay  of  irony  by  the  Duchess  of 
Grarnmont — "  that  he  will  not  leave  me  even  a  confessor." 
"  No,  Madame,  you  will  not  have  one — neither  you  nor  any 
person.  The  last  victim  who,  by  an  act  of  grace,  will  have 
one,  will  be — " 

He  stopped  a  moment.  "  Indeed  !  who  then  is  the  happy 
mortal  that  will  enjoy  this  prerogative  ?"  Cazotte  slowly  re 
plied,  "  It  is  the  last  that  will  remain  to  him,  and  this  person 
will  be  the  King  of  France ." 

The  master  of  the  house  arose  brusquely,  and  every  one 
with  him,  but  not  before  Cazotte  had  predicted  his  own  death 
by  the  executioner. 

What  a  subject  for  a  painter !     The  assemblage  of  these 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          125 


master-wits  of  France  at  the  festive  board,  unconsciously  scoff 
ing  at  the  fate  then  ripe  to  swallow  them  in  its  inexorable 
jaws;  a  modern  Belshazzar-feast,  mocking  at  the  Daniel  that 
foretold  the  corning  tempest,  and  awakening  only  from  their 
dream  of  philosophy  and  reign  of  reason  to  find  themselves  in 
prison  or  on  a  scaffold.  The  prophecy  was  true.  La  Harpe 
has,  in  his  narrative,  given  it  strength  and  effect ;  but,  as  ho 
justly  remarks,  their  several  destinies  were  more  marvelous 
than  the  prophecy  La  Harpe  became  a  Christian,  and  sur 
vived  the  Reign  of  Terror  and  the  Dynasty  of  Reason. 

Of  all  the  prisons  of  Paris,  the  Conciergerie  is  the  most  in 
teresting,  from  its  antiquity,  associations,  and  mixed  style  of 
architecture,  uniting,  as  it  were,  the  horrors  of  the  dungeons  of 
the  Middle  Ages  with  the  more  humane  system  of  confinement 
of  the  present  century.  It  exhibits  in  its  mongrel  outline 
the  progressive  ameliorations  of  humanity  toward  criminals 
and  offenders,  forming,  as  it  were,  a  connecting  link  between 
feudal  barbarity  and  modern  civilization.  As  an  historical 
monument,  it  is  unsurpassed  in  interest  by  any  other  of  this 
capital.  Situated  in  the  heart  of  old  Paris,  upon  the  He  de  la 
Cite,  separated  from  the  Seine  by  the  Q,uai  de  Tllorologe,  it  is 
one  of  a  cluster  of  edifices  pregnant  with  souvenirs  of  suffi 
cient  importance  in  the  annals  of  France  for  each  to  supply  a 
volume.  These  buildings  are  the  "  Sainte  Chapelle,"  the  Pre'- 
fecture  de  Police,  and  the  Palais  de  Justice,  formerly  the  resi 
dence  of  the  French  monarchs.  The  Conciergerie,  which  de 
rives  its  name  from  concierge,  or  keeper,  was  anciently  the 
prison  of  the  palace.  It  is  now  used  chiefly  as  a  place  of 
detention  for  persons  during  their  trial.  The  recent  altera 
tions  have  greatly  diminished  the  gloomy  and  forbidding  ef 
fect  of  its  exterior,  but  sufficient  of  its  old  character  remains 
to  perpetuate  the  associations  connected  with  its  former  uses, 
nml  to  preserve  for  it  its  interest  as  a  relic  of  feudalism.  The 


126          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


names  of  the  two  turrets  flanking  the  gateway,  Tour  de  Cesar 
and  Tour  Boubec,  smack  of  antiquity.  Compared  with  Caesar, 
however,  its  age  is  quite  juvenile,  being  under  nine  hundred 
years.  At  the  east  corner  there  is  a  tall  square  tower,  con 
taining  a  remarkable  clock,  the  first  seen  in  Paris,  the  move 
ments  of  which  were  made  in  1370  by  Henry  de  Yic,  a  Ger 
man.  It  has  been  recently  restored,  and  is  one  of  the  most 
curious  bijoux  of  sculpture  which  have  been  bequeathed  to  us 
by  the  revival  of  the  arts. 

In  this  same  tower  hung  the  bell,  known  as  the  "  tocsin  du 
Palais,"  which  repeated  the  signal  for  the  massacre  of  St.  Bar- 
thelemi,  given  from  the  church  of  St.  Germain  1'Auxerrois. 
The  low  grated  gateway  through  which  passed  those  con 
demned  to  die  upon  the  Place  de  Greve  still  exists.  The 
.Bridge  of  Sighs  has  not  been  witness  to  more  anguish  of  mind 
and  physical  torture  than  this  same  ominous  dungeon  door. 
The  aspect  of  this  portion  of  this  ancient  prison — its  dark  cor 
ridors,  with  their  low,  ponderous  vaulted  roofs,  and  arched 
staircases  —  is  peculiarly  sinister,  suggesting  the  mysterious 
horrors  of  a  political  inquisition,  unexcelled  in  this  respect  by 
the  entrances  to  the  subterranean  dungeons  of  the  Doges  of 
Venice. 

The  people  of  Paris,  through  all  time,  will  bear  the  reproach 
of  the  massacres  of  September,  1792,  the  horrors  of  which  are 
indelibly  aflixed  to  this  jail.  But  impartial  justice  wrill  recall 
the  fact  that,  five  centuries  previous,  a  Duke  of  Burgundy  per 
petrated  within  its  walls  a  still  more  fearful  slaughter  of  his 
unarmed  and  unresisting  countrymen,  destroying  by  smoke  and 
fire  those  that  he  could  not  reach  by  the  sword. 

There  is  a  retributive  justice  to  be  traced  in  the  history  of 
every  institution  resulting  from  the  inhumanity  of  man  to  his 
fellow-man  that  carries  with  it  a  warning  as  legible  as  the 
ff,  Menct  Tekel,  Upharsin"  on  the  palace  walls  of  Babylon. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


THE   CONCIERGERIC. 


The  Conciergerie  was  for  centuries  the  strong-hold  and  prison 
of  feudalism,  and  the  repository  of  its  criminal  justice.     It  was 


128          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

stored  with  its  diabolical  inventions  to  rack  human  nerves  and 
to  excruciate  human  flesh,  agonizing  the  body  so  that  the  soul 
should  disown  truth,  or  that  shrinking  humanity  should  be 
forced  to  confess  crimes  which  other\vise  would  have  slum 
bered  unrevealed  until  the  day  when  all  secrets  will  be  dis 
closed.  It  faithfully  served  its  aristocratic  builders ;  but  when 
Louis  XL,  and,  later,  the  Cardinal  Richelieu,  succeeded  in 
erecting  a  kingdom  of  France  upon  the  ruins  of  feudal  power, 
the  Conciergerie  received  into  its  cells  its  late  lords,  and 
avenged  in  their  fall  the  blood  that  they  had  so  often  spilled. 

A  description  of  the  various  instruments  of  torture  which 
were  employed  even  as  late  as  the  latter  part  of  the  reign  of 
Louis  XVI.,  scarcely  sixty  years  since,  by  the  judiciary  of 
France,  would  now  be  received  with  incredulity.  Yet  this  spe 
cies  of  human  butchery  is  so  recent,  and  was  so  long  sanction 
ed  by  the  highest  civil  and  religious  authorities,  that  one  may 
readily  be  pardoned  for  a  shudder  at  its  recollection,  not  with 
out  a  fear  that  human  nature  might,  in  one  of  its  avenging  par 
oxysms,  recall  so  terrible  an  auxiliary  of  hate. 

By  a  singular  freak  of  time,  the  oldest  legible  entry  in  the 
archives  of  the  Conciergerie  is  that  of  the  incarceration  of  the 
regicide  Ravaillac,  dated  16th  May,  1610.  His  sentence,  pro 
nounced  by  Parliament  on  the  27th  of  May,  was  as  follows  : 
"  To  be  conducted  to  the  Place  de  Gr&ve,  and  there,  upon  a 
scaffold,  to  have  his  breasts,  arms,  thighs,  and  calves  of  his  legs 
lacerated  with  red-hot  pincers,  his  right  hand,  which  had  held 
the  knife  with  which  he  committed  the  said '  parricide,'  to  be 
burned  off  in  a  fire  of  sulphur,  and  into  all  his  wounds  to  be 
thrown  melted  lead,  boiling  oil,  burning  pitch,  and  wax  and 
sulphur  mingled.  This  done,  his  body  to  be  drawn  and  dis 
membered  by  four  horses,  and  afterward  consumed  by  fire,  and 
his  ashes  thrown  to  the  winds."  Such  were  the  tender  mer 
cies  of  the  Parliament  of  France  in  1610,  repeated  with  aggra- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          129 

vated  horrors,  more  than  a  century  later,  upon  Damiens  by  the 
Bourbon  "Bien  Aime."  It  is  necessary  to  recall  to  mind  the  ju 
dicial  barbarities  perpetrated  in  the  name  of  justice  in  this 
country,  that  we  may  rightly  appreciate  the  services  rendered 
humanity  in  their  abolition  by  the  philosophy  that  gave  birth 
to  the  Revolution ;  in  this  instance  the  more  conspicuous, 
when  we  reflect  that  religion  had  long  lent  to  them  addition 
al  terror  by  its  perverted  sanction.  The  iron  collar  of  Ravail- 
lac,  and  the  tower  of  Damiens,  at  present  the  warming-room 
of  the  prison,  still  serve  to  transmit  to  posterity  the  double 
recollection  of  their  crimes  and  the  appalling  tortures  to  which 
they  were  subjected  previous  to  their  final  execution.  Their 
diabolical  ingenuity  has  failed  to  stay  a  single  attempt  on  "  sa 
cred  majesty,"  as  almost  every  ruler  of  France  has  since  re 
peatedly  borne  witness ;  so  that  now  the  inheritors  of  the 
"  divine  right"  content  themselves  by  simply  bestowing  upon 
their  assassins  the  sudden  death  which  is  the  just  penalty  of 
their  crime. 

The  Conciergerie  has  repeatedly  borne  witness  to  the  lofty 
resolution  and  unshaken  firmness  of  woman — the  result,  it 
must  in  sorrow  be  confessed,  as  often  of  hardened  guilt  as  of 
conscious  innocence.  It  is  strange  that  virtue  and  vice,  in  the 
extremity  of  death,  should  so  nearly  resemble  each  other.  I 
am  tempted  to  give  a  few  examples,  leaving  to  the  reader  his 
own  inferences  upon  the  strange  problem  of  human  nature. 

In  1617,  Eleonore  Galiga'i,  the  wily  and  ambitious  confidante 
of  Marie  de  Medicis,  fell  a  victim  to  stronger  arts  than  her 
own.  Corruption,  treachery,  prostitution  of  honors,  treasure, 
and  employments,  were  all  practices  too  common  with  the  ac 
cusing  courtiers  and  great  lords  for  them  to  venture  to  con 
demn  her  upon  such  grounds.  Not  one  was  to  be  found  to 
cast  the  first  stone  of  a  just  condemnation.  The  Parliament 
accused  her  of  Judaism  and  sorcery.  In  the  chamber  of  tor- 

F2 


130          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


ture  they  asked  her  if  she  were  really  possessed.  iShe  replied 
that  she  had  never  been  possessed  except  with  the  desire  to 
do  good,  She  was  then  asked  if  she  had  sorcery  in  her  eyes. 
"  The  only  sorcery,"  said  she,  laughing,  "  that  I  am  guilty  of, 
is  the  sorcery  of  wit  and  intelligence." 

Certain  books  having  been  found  at  her  hotel,  they  ques 
tioned  her  in  regard  to  their  character.  "  They  serve  to  teach 
me  that  I  know  nothing."  Next  they  sought  to  discover  by 
what  sacrilegious  means  she  had  acquired  her  influence  over 
the  queen.  She  replied  that  she  had  "  subdued  a  weak  soul 
by  the  strength  oflier  own." 


OF  EI.EONORE  GALIOAI 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          131 

Such  replies  being  little  edifying  to  her  successors  in  in 
trigue  and  chicanery,  they  destroyed  the  tongue  they  could  not 
subdue  by  giving  her  head  to  the  axe. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century,  political  hate, 
or  private  interest  and  revenge,  had  taken  the  more  subtle  and 
less  conspicuous  shape  of  impoisonment.  The  crime  was  aris 
tocratic,  and  so  were  its  victims.  The  person  who  affrighted 
Paris  with  the  first  pinch  of  the  " poudrc  dc  succession"  -was  a 
lady  and  a  "Marquise."  In  1680,  the  common  talk  of  Paris 
and  Versailles  was  of  poisons  and  their  effects.  Deaths  were 
frequent  and  mysterious,  the  causes  so  subtile  as  to  elude  de 
tection.  It  was  finally  discovered  that  the  vender  of  the  poison 
was  a  woman  known  by  the  name  of  La  Yoisine.  She  had 
succeeded  to  the  fatal  secrets  of  the  laboratory  of  Madame  de 
Bririvilliers,  the  "  Marquise,"  who  four  years  before,  after  be 
ing  subjected  to  torture,  had  expiated  her  crimes  on  the  scaf 
fold.  It  was  now  the  turn  of  La  Yoisine.  Unlike  the  Mar 
quise,  who  was  beautiful,  spirituelle,  and  accomplished,  she 
was  gross,  ugly,  and  brutal.  The  Marquise  feared  the  torture, 
and  confessed  all,  and  perhaps  more  crimes  than  she  had  com 
mitted.  La  Voisine,  on  the  contrary,  scoffed  at  the  instru 
ments  of  torture,  and  mocked  alike  the  judges  and  execution 
ers.  She  seemed  exalted  above  fear  or  suffering  by  the  very 
enthusiasm  of  wickedness.  No  martyr  to  religion  ever  show 
ed  more  firmness  and  indifference  to  all  that  is  most  appall 
ing  to  human  nerves.  She  even  accused  herself  of  impossible 
crimes  in  the  excitement  of  her  depraved  pride,  glorifying  her 
self  by  the  intensity  of  her  abominable  passions.  She  joked 
with  the  lieutenant  of  police  ;  she  laughed  at  her  keepers  ; 
she  drank  with  the  soldiers  that  watched  her  ;  she  spat  in 
contempt  upon  the  engines  of  torment ;  she  parodied  modesty 
by  an  indecent  arrangement  of  her  dress  ;  she  sang,  for  fear 
that  they  would  pity  her  ;  she  insulted  the  tribunal  when  in- 


132          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

terrogated  ;  she  blasphemed  if  they  spoke  of  God  ;  she  cursed 
when  she  feared  that  she  should  faint  under  the  torture  ;  she 
did  all  that  it  was  possible  for  human  depravity  to  do,  exhaust 
ing  in  its  folly  and  crime  the  very  dregs  of  sin. 

When  the  officers  entered  the  chamber  of  torture  of  the 
Conciergerie  to  read  her  sentence,  she  bowed  herself  as  inde 
cently  as  possible,  almost  touching  the  earth,  and  coolly  said, 
"  Gentlemen,  I  salute  you,"  and  then  proceeded  to  interrupt 
the  recital  with  songs,  blasphemies,  and  insults. 

"  You  are  condemned,"  said  the  president,  "  for  impieties, 
poisonings,  artifices,  misdeeds,  thefts,  and  complots  against  the 
lives  of  persons,  for  sacrilege,  and  other  crimes  without  num 
ber,  such  as  homicide  in  fact  and  intention,  as  culpable  of 
diabolical  practices  and  treason — to  make  honorable  amends 
at  the  door  of  Notre  Dame — " 

"  A  wonder !"  cried  La  Voisine  ;  "  we  shall  see  the  devil  in 
the  holy  water — " 

"  And  to  be  conducted  to  the  Place  de  Greve  to  be  burned, 
and  your  ashes  thrown  to  the  wind." 

"  Which  will  waft  them  to  hell,  I  hope,"  exclaimed  the  in 
corrigible  woman. 

"  You  are  also  condemned  to  submit  to  renewed  torture,  to 
extract  from  you  the  name  of  accomplices  not  yet  given." 

"  You  have  only  to  choose  them  among  your  great  lords  and 
noble  ladies.  Have  they  not  prevented  me  by  their  folly  from 
continuing  my  own  profession  of  an  accoucheur  ?  They  com 
menced  by  asking  of  me  secrets  of  the  future,  and  I  have 
drawn  their  cards,  and  given  them  the  most  brilliant  horo 
scopes  ;  they  then  demanded  of  me  lfioles  de  jeunessej  and  I 
have  sold  them  pure  water  under  the  guise  of  water  of  youth; 
They  have  asked  of  me  some  grains  of  that  powder  of  suc 
cession  which  succeeded  so  well  with  Madame  de  Brinvilliers, 
and  I  have  given  them  my  strongest  poisons.  You  now  know 
nil  my  accomplices." 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          133 

"  And,  finally,"  continued  the  judge,  "  you  are  condemned 
to  submit  to  the  torture  extraordinary." 

"  I  shall  answer  the  best  I  can,  Monsieur  Judge.  Bind  me 
with  my  hands  behind  my  back  ;  lash  my  legs  with  cords  ;  lay 
me  dowrn  upon  the  wooden  horse"  (an  instrument  of  torture) ; 
"  torture  me  at  your  leisure  :  I  will  continue  to  laugh,  to  blas 
pheme,  to  sing,  regretting  all  the  while  that  you  do  not  put  a 
little  wine  in  your  water."  (The  species  of  torture  was  to 
cause  the  prisoner  to  swallow  several  quarts  of  water  by 
means  of  a  little  stream  trickling  slowly  into  the  mouth.) 
"  Go  on  !  courage  !  Judge  and  executioner,  I  am  ready." 

"  First  pot  of  water  for  the  torture  ordinary,"  said  the  judge, 
making  a  sign  to  the  executioner. 

"  To  your  health !"  replied  La  Yoisine. 

The  "  question"  was  begun  by  two  large  pints  of  cold  water 
turned,  drop  by  drop,  into  the  mouth  of  the  criminal.  When 
the  jug  was  emptied,  they  turned  three  spokes  of  the  wooden 
horse,  elongating  the  limbs  until  the  tendons  were  ready  to 
snap. 

"  You  are  right,  my  friends  :  one  should  grow  at  all  ages. 
I  always  grumbled  at  being  too  small.  I  wish  to  be  as  large 
as  my  sister  Brinvilliers." 

"  Second  pot  of  the  ordinary,"  ordered  the  judge. 

"  May  God  render  it  back  to  you,"  exclaimed  the  poisoner. 

They  emptied  the  second  jug.  The  horse  was  stretched 
anew.  The  bones  of  the  old  woman  cracked  and  snapped 
under  the  torture.  Seven  jugs  of  water  were  successively 
emptied  down  her  throat,  drop  by  drop — one  continuous  stran 
gulation — a  hundred  deaths  condensed  into  a  few  hours. 
Upon  the  advice  of  the  physician,  La  Yoisine  wras  resuscitated. 
They  placed  her  upon  a  mattress  near  the  fire.  If  the  gradual 
insensibility  of  the  criminal  had  been  protracted  torture,  the 
slow  revival  was  a  greater  agony. 


134          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

Returned  to  her  cell  at  midnight,  La  Voisine  sought  daily  to 
pass  her  time  in  riotous  indulgences.  She  had  swallowed 
fourteen  pints  of  water  ;  she  demanded  to  drink  fourteen  bot 
tles  of  wine. 

It  is  to  Madame  de  Sevigne  that  we  are  indebted  for  a  nar 
rative  of  her  last  moments.  True  to  her  fanaticism  of  wick 
edness,  she  feasted  with  her  guards,  sang  drinking  songs,  and, 
mangled  as  she  was  in  every  limb,  spared  not  herself  from  the 
most  scandalous  excesses  of  debauchery.  It  was  in  vain  that 
they  attempted  to  recall  her  to  serious  thoughts,  and  recom 
mended  that  she  should  chant  an  Avc  or  a  Salve ;  she  chanted 
both  in  derision,  and  then  slept.  Neither  force  nor  torture 
could  wring  from  her  the  required  confession  ;  even  when 
chained  to  the  fatal  pile,  she  swere  constantly,  and  contrived 
five  or  six  times  to  throw  off  from  her  the  burning  straw  with 
which  she  was  enveloped,  but  at  last  the  fire  prevailed  ;  she 
was  lost  to  sight,  and  her  cinders  borne  aloft  by  the  eddying 
current  of  air,  where  Madame  de  Sevigne,  with  a  levity  that 
does  no  credit  to  her  heart,  says  they  still  are. 

The  life  of  Cartouche,  the  grand  robber  par  excellence,  sug 
gests  many  a  striking  parallel  with  that  of  the  "  Grand  Mon 
arch."  It  would  be  a  curious  and  instructive  history,  if  my 
space  permitted,  to  show  the  congeniality  of  principles  and  ac 
tions  between  Louis  XIY.  and  the  most  dexterous  and  munifi 
cent  of  bandits.  Versailles  lodged  the  one,  and  the  Concier- 
gerie  the  other.  Which  was  the  greater  criminal,  when  weigh 
ed  in  the  balance  of  the  King  of  kings,  it  is  not  for  a  fellow- 
sinner  to  decide.  Each  admirably  acted  his  part  in  the  esti 
mation  of  the  world.  The  evil  done  by  the  one  perished  with 
him;  the  vanity,  lust,  pride,  and  bigotry  of  the  other  slili 
weighs  upon  the  energies  and  industry  of  France.  The  kin^ 
died  peacefully  in  his  bed,  in  the  comfortable  belief  of  passing 
from  his  temporal  kingdom  to  a  brighter  inheritance  above  ; 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


the  robber  perished  on  the  wheel,  amid  the  jeers  of  the  popu 
lace  and  the  curiosity  of  fine  ladies.  It  is  devoutly  to  be 
hoped  that  the  breed  of  each  is  extinguished. 

To  visit  the  Conciergerie,  and  not  recall  the  image  of  the 
most  illustrious  and  innocent  suflerer  of  all  that  have  hallow- 


MARIE    ANTOINETTE    BORNE    TO    EXECUTION 


136          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


ed  its  walls  by  examples  of  piety  and  resignation,  would  be  to 
refuse  a  tribute  to  tliose  sentiments  which  most  dignify  hu 
man  nature,  and  reconcile  us  to  its  mingled  weakness  and 
grandeur.  The  dungeon  of  Marie  Antoinette  is  now  an  expi 
atory  chapel,  with  nothing  to  recall  its  original  condition  ex 
cept  the  souvenirs  connected  with  the  sufferings  by  which  she 
so  dearly  expiated  the  frivolities  and  thoughtlessness  of  her 
early  career.  To  add  the  bitterness  of  contrast,  and  the  con 
tact  of  vice  with  virtue,  to  her  end,  she  was  dragged  to  the 
scaffold  in  an  open  cart,  in  company  with  a  prostitute  guilty 
of  having  cried  in  a  cabaret  "  Vive  la  reinc  /"  The  poor  girl, 
still  capable  in  her  abasement  of  appreciating  the  intended  in 
sult  to  the  Queen  of  France,  knelt  at  her  feet,  and  humbly  said 
to  her,  as  they  drove  to  their  joint  death, "  Madame,  Madame, 
forgive  me  for  dying  with  your  majesty." 

I  believe  there  is  but  one  species  of  natural  or  artificial  vio 
lence  to  which  mankind  do  not,  in  time,  become,  if  not  recon 
ciled,  at  least  reckless  or  indifferent.  Famine,  pestilence,  war, 
and  civil  calamities  in  time  cease  to  affright  or  warn.  Hu 
man  nature,  with  its  versatility  of  powers  for  good  or  evil, 
soon  reconciles  itself,  under  one  aspect  or  the  other,  to  any  in 
evitable  condition,  however  terrible  its  first  appearance.  The 
exception  is  the  earthquake.  The  first  shock  is  the  least  fear 
ful  ;  every  succeeding  one  increases  trepidation,  and  destroys 
self-possession.  The  prisoners  of  the  Conciergerie  were  al 
most  daily  decimated  by  the  guillotine  during  the  Reign  of 
Terror,  yet  their  daily  amusement  was  to  play  at  charades 
and  the — guillotine.  Both  sexes  and  all  ranks  assembled  in 
one  of  the  halls.  They  formed  a  revolutionary  tribunal, 
choosing  accusers  and  judges,  and  parodying  the  gestures  and 
voice  of  Fouquier  Tinville  and  his  coadjutors.  Defenders 
were  named  ;  the  accused  were  taken  at  hazard.  The  sen 
tence  of  death  followed  close  on  the  heels  of  the  accusation. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          137 

They  simulated  the  toilet  of  the  condemned,  preparing  the 
neck  for  the  knife  by  feigning  to  cut  the  hair  and  collar.  The 
sentenced  were  attached  to  a  chair  reversed,  to  represent  the 
guillotine.  The  knife  was  of  wood,  and,  as  it  fell,  the  indi 
vidual,  male  or  female,  thus  sporting  with  their  approaching 
fate,  tumbled  down  as  if  actually  struck  by  the  iron  blade. 
Often,  while  engaged  in  this  play,  they  were  interrupted  by 
the  terrible  voice  of  the  public  crier  calling  over  the  "  names 
of  the  brigands  who  to-day  have  gained  the  lottery  of  the 
holy  guillotine." 

Imperfect  as  are  these  souvenirs  of  this  celebrated  jail,  I 
should  be  doing  injustice  to  the  most  interesting  of  all  were 
I  to  omit  the  last  night  of  the  Girondists,  that  antique  festiv 
ity,  the  greatest  triumph  of  philosophy  ever  witnessed  by 
palace  or  prison  walls.  Those  fierce,  theoretical  deputies,  who 
had  so  recently  sent  to  the  scaffold  the  King  and  Q,ueeii  of 
France,  were  now  on  their  way  thither.  Christianity  teaches 
men  to  live  in  peaceful  humility,  and  to  die  with  hopeful  res 
ignation.  The  last  hour  of  a  true  believer  is  calmly  joyous. 
Here  was  an  opportunity  for  infidelity  to  assert  its  superiority 
in  death,  as  it  had  claimed  for  itself  the  greatest  good  in  life. 
Let  us  be  just  to  even  these  deluded  men.  They  had  played 
a  terrible  role  in  the  history  of  their  country,  and  they  re 
signed  themselves  to  die  with  the  same  intrepidity  with  which 
they  had  staked  their  existence  upon  the  success  of  their  pol 
icy.  They  made  it  a  death  fete,  each  smiling  as  he  awaited 
the  dread  message,  and  devoting  his  latest  moments  to  those 
displays  of  intellectual  rivalry  which  had  so  long  united  them 
in  life.  Mainvielle,  Ducos,  Gensonne',  and  Boyer  Fonfrede 
abandoned  themselves  to  gayety,  wit,  and  revelry,  repeating 
their  own  verses  with  friendly  rivalry,  stimulating  their  com 
panions  to  every  species  of  infidel  folly.  Viger  sang  amorous 
songs  ;  Duprat  related  a  tale  ;  Gensonne  repeated  the  Mar- 


138          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


scillaise  ;  while  Yergniaud  alternately  electrified  them  with 
his  eloquence,  or  discoursed  philosophically  of  their  pust  his 
tory  and  the  unknown  future  rrori  whirh.  they  v/ere  fibout  to 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          139 

enter.  The  discussion  on  poetry,  literature,  and  general  top 
ics  was  animated  and  brilliant ;  on  God,  religion,  the  immor 
tality  of  the  soul,  grave,  eloquent,  calm,  and  poetic.  The 
walls  of  their  prison  echoed  to  a  late  hour  in  the  morning  to 
their  patriotic  cries,  and  were  witness  to  their  paternal  em 
braces.  The  corpse  of  Aralaze',  the  only  one  who,  by  a  volun 
tary  death,  eluded  the  scaffold,  remained  in  the  cell  with 
them. 

The  whole  scene  was  certainly  the  greatest,  wildest,  and 
most  dramatic  ever  born  of  courage  and  reason,  yet  through 
out  their  enthusiasms  there  appears  a  chill  of  uncertainty  and 
an  intellectual  coldness  that  appalls  the  conscience.  We  feel 
that,  for  the  Girondists,  it  was  a  consistent  sacrifice  to  their 
theories  and  lives  ;  but  for  a  Christian  and  patriot,  a  sad  and 
unedifying  spectacle.  While  history  can  not  refuse  her  trib 
ute  of  admiration  to  high  qualities,  even  when  misdirected, 
she  is  equally  bound  to  record  the  errors  and  repeat  the 
warnings  to  be  derived  from  those  who  claim  for  themselves 
a  space  in  her  pages.  The  lives  of  the  Girondists,  as  well  as 
their  deaths,  were  a  confused  drama  of  lofty  aspirations,  gen 
erous  sentiments,  and  noble  sacrifices,  mingled  with  error, 
passion,  and  folly.  Their  character  possesses  all  the  cold  brill 
iancy  of  fireworks,  which  excite  our  admiration  to  be  chilled 
with  disappointment  at  their  speedy  eclipse.  Their  death- 
scene  was  emphatically  a  spectacle.  It  possessed  neither  the 
simple  grandeur  of  the  death  of  Socrates,  nor  the  calm  and 
trustful  spirit  that  characterized  the  dying  moments  of  Wash 
ington  ;  the  one  yielding  up  his  spirit  as  a  heathen  philoso 
pher,  the  other  dying  as  a  Christian  statesman. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

EMPLOYMENTS    OF    THE    POOR WHAT    THEY    EAT WHAT    THEY 

WEAR HOW    THEY    AMUSE    THEMSELVES. 

THE  French  government  aims  to  produce  upon  the  stranger 
the  same  effect  from  the  tout  ensemble  of  Paris,  as  does  the 
belle  of  the  Champs  Elysecs  by  the  perfection  of  her  toilet 
upon  the  idlers  of  all  nations  who  frequent  that  fashionable 
promenade.  Both  are  got  up  with  a  nice  regard  for  admira 
tion.  Both  are  equally  successful  in  their  effort.  We  admire 
the  lady  as  one  does  a  coquettishly  arranged  bouquet,  too  con 
tent  with  its  general  beauty  to  think  of  criticising  its  details. 
&o  with  the  public  edifices  and  grounds  ;  we  pay  them  at  once 
and  involuntarily  the  homage  of  our  admiration,  receiving  at 
each  glance  the  intuitive  satisfaction  that  arises  from  the  pres 
ence  of  the  beautiful,  whether  made  by  man  or  born  of  God. 
I  am  not  sure  that  an  invidious  comparison  does  not  force  it 
self  at  once  upon  Americans  at  the  too  perceptible  contrast  be 
tween  the  noble  avenues,  spacious  palaces,  beautiful  places, 
and  tasteful  gardens  ;  in  short,  between  the  treasures  of  their 
rich  and  venerable,  and  the  meagreness  of  our  juvenile  and 
practical  civilization.  The  advantages  in  respect  to  architect 
ure,  the  ornamental  arts,  and  even  the  scale  and  elegance  of 
the  more  humble  requirements  of  the  necessities  of  the  age,  in 
the  shape  of  bridges,  rail-road  stations,  and  public  edifices  gen 
erally,  are  greatly  on  their  side.  If  the  comparison  stopped 
here,  we  should  be  filled  with  envy.  With  too  many  it  does 
not  go  farther,  and  they  dishonor  their  native  land  by  condemn 
ing  in  her  the  want  of  a  taste  for  the  mere  lust  of  the  eye, 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          141 

which,  if  unduly  cultivated,  would  go  far  to  develop  with  us 
those  social  contrasts  which  here  mark  the  extremes  of  society. 
One  instance  will  suffice  to  illustrate  the  ruling  passion  of 
the  various  governments  of  France.  The  most  conspicuous, 
but  by  no  means  the  most  costly  of  the  embellishments  of  Paris, 
is  the  Arch  of  Triumph  at  the  Barrier  de  1'Etoile.  A  nobler 


ARCH   OF   TRIUMPH. 


and  more  commanding  monument  at  the  entrance  of  a  capital 
no  other  city  can  boast.  From  its  elevated  position,  it  towers 
far  above  all  that  portion  of  Paris,  conspicuous  to  a  great  dis 
tance  in  the  country,  like  a  colossal  gateway  to  a  city  of  giants. 
It  is  simply  an  architectural  ornament,  useful  only  as  affording 


142          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

from  its  top  the  best  coup  d'ceil  of  Paris.  The  glory  of  exhib 
iting  this  arch  has  cost  Frenchmen  two  millions  of  dollars  ad 
ditional  taxes.  Even  they,  while  boasting  its  possession,  con 
sider  it  an  apt  illustration  of  their  proverbial  expression  in  re 
gard  to  prodigality,  "to  throw  money  out  of  the  windows." 

Were  American  citizens  called  to  decide  between  the  appro 
priation  of  two  millions  of  dollars  to  a  similar  construction  or 
for  purposes  of  education,  the  schools  would  get  it.  Not  so  in 
France.  The  gold  goes  for  ornament,  the  copper  for  instruc 
tion.  This  one  fact  explains  in  a  great  measure  the  wide  dis 
tinction  of  ruling  principles  between  the  two  nations.  We 
have  less  elegance,  but  more  comfort.  Our  wealth  is  diffused 
and  society  equalized.  Democracy,  like  water,  constantly  seeks 
a  level,  and  with  us,  imperfect  as  it  is,  it  is  still  the  most  com 
fortable  assurance  for  future  progress  in  all  that  makes  hu 
manity  at  large  wise  and  happy  that  the  world  has  yet  seen. 
France,  on  the  contrary,  fluctuating  between  the  extremes 
of  aristocratic  conservatism  and  democratic  destructiveness, 
though  slowly  winning  her  way  toward  the  goal  of  human 
rights,  still  exhibits  contrasts  in  the  social  scale  which  pain 
fully  mark  the  poverty  and  ignorance  of  her  masses.  I  have 
elsewhere  shown  that  out  of  the  million  souls  that  people  Paris, 
eight  hundred  thousand  are  in  a  state  of  either  uncertainty  as 
to  their  future  or  absolute  want.  No  civilization  which  pro 
duces  such  results  can  be  rightly  based.  The  citizens  of  the 
United  States  may  well  spare  France  the  pride  of  her  monu 
ments,  if  their  cost  is  the  indigence  of  her  people. 

The  better  to  picture  the  straits  for  subsistence  to  which  the 
luxurious  civilization  of  European  aristocracy  compels  the 
masses,  I  shall  draw  again  upon  the  streets  for  specimens  of 
the  HONEST  modes  of  livelihood  of  this  capital.  Without  a 
glance  at  both  sides  of  the  social  panorama,  the  American  is 
very  indifferently  qualified  to  judge  of  the  comparative  merits 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  143 

of  the  institutions  of  his  own  and  other  countries.  The  least 
a  traveler  eaii  do  for  his  native  land  is  to  gather  for  it,  be  it 
in  ever  so  humble  a  measure,  the  wisdom,  whether  of  exam 
ple  or  warning,  of  those  he  visits.  By  thus  doing,  his  expatria 
tion  may  not  be  without  benefit  to  his  fellow-citizens.  If  in 
this  series  of  sketches  of  foreign  life  I  succeed  in  amusing,  I 
shall  be  gratified  ;  but  if,  as  is  my  higher  aim,  1  am  able  to 
convey  a  correct  moral,  my  satisfaction  will  be  more  complete. 
It  is  with  the  female  sex  that  the  comparison  of  occupations 
allbrds  the  greatest  variety  of  strange  examples  to  American 
eyes.  Accustomed  as  we  are  to  invest  woman  with  the  asso 
ciations  of  a  "  home,"  it  is  with  repugnance  at  first  that  we 
see  her  so  isolated  from  her  natural  protector,  leading  a  life 
equally  as  distinct  and  independent  in  the  strife  of  existence 
as  his.  Marriage  has  not  the  same  heart-interpretation  as 
with  us.  It  is  a  union  of  interests,  seldom  of  affections.  A 
business  arrangement  for  mutual  convenience,  leaving  to  the 
man  the  same  latitude  of  bachelor  instincts  as  before,  and  be 
stowing  upon  the  woman  a  liberty  to  be  purchased  in  no  other 
way.  But  the  aspect  of  feminine  isolation  from  domestic  re 
lations  is  most  strongly  marked  in  the  extensive  class  of  shop 
girls  and  all  those  compelled  to  gain  a  precarious  subsistence 
by  their  individual  exertions.  They  live  alone,  or  in  couples, 
allured  by  every  species  of  dissipation  of  this  sensuous  city, 
and  without  other  restraint  or  surveillance  than  their  own  du 
bious  standard  of  propriety  or  morals.  Their  religious  edu 
cation,  when  they  have  any,  is  confined  to  the  pageantry  of 
Catholic  worship.  While  the  daughters  of  the  rich  are  brought 
up  in  an  almost  conventual  seclusion,  scrupulously  guarded 
both  from  the  seductions  and  contact  of  the  world,  these  girls, 
unsheltered  by  family  roofs,  are  exposed  at  a  tender  age  to  all 
its  trying  experiences.  Left  thus  dependent  upon  their  exer 
tions  and  prudence,  they  early  acquire  a  fund  of  worldly  knowl- 


lit          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

edge,  which  soon  resolves  itself  into  a  code  of  manners  for  their 
guidance,  and  gives  them  that  singularly  self-possessed  and 
independent  air,  which  with  us  is  the  exclusive  heritage  of  our 
male  youth.  The  American  female  relics  upon  the  rougher 
sex  in  all  matters  that  bring  her  into  immediate  contact  with 
the  grosser  and  practical  elements  of  society.  The  French 
woman,  on  the  contrary,  acts  for  herself  as  freely  as  would  a 
man  under  similar  circumstances.  Hence,  in  one  country,  wom 
an  preserves  the  retiring,  timid  delicacy  most  attractive  in  her 
character ;  in  the  other,  she  assumes  an  independence  of  ac 
tion  that  renders  her  at  once  a  self-relying,  shrewd  being,  as 
capable  of  living  a  "  bachelor"  life  as  man  himself.  The  one 
calls  forth  our  respectful  tenderness  from  her  graceful  de 
pendence.  Her  innocence  is  her  security.  The  other  de 
mands  our  respect  as  an  equal  in  worldly  knowledge  and  ca 
pacity  of  action.  She  challenges  our  gallantry  for  the  same 
reason  that  she  fails  to  win  our  attention.  On  all  points  she 
is  armed  against  the  one,  and  in  every  respect  is  independent 
of  the  other.  Her  policy  is  in  the  finesse  of  the  head.  The 
strength  of  the  other  lies  in  the  sincerity  of  her  heart.  Whether 
the  acquired  independence  of  the  one  is  a  fair  equivalent  for 
the  winning  dependence  of  the  other,  each  individual  will 
judge  according  to  his  taste. 

In  this  relation,  however,  I  ran  not  pass  over  a  significant 
fact  in  the  results  of  the  French  system  of  female  education. 
If  the  exposed  lives  of  the  poorer  class  of  girls  lead  them  al 
most  inevitably  into  vice,  or  forming  temporary  connections  in 
lieu  of  the  more  permanent  ties  of  marriage,  the  tendency  of 
the  unnatural  seclusion  practiced  in  some  of  the  higher  semi 
naries  of  learning  is  even  worse.  From  being  never  trusted, 
the  girls  become  adroit  hypocrites,  and,  as  with  Eve,  the  apple 
of  knowledge,  though  tabooed,  is  covertly  plucked.  A  cele 
brated  institution  near  Paris,  in  the  charge  of  ofovernmcnt, 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          145 


where  five  hundred  daughters,  sisters,  and  nieces  of  the  mem 
bers  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  receive  a  highly-finished  educa 
tion,  under  rules  of  almost  military  severity,  furnishes  a  large 
proportion  of  the  fair  and  frail  sirens  of  the  (otuartier  Breda. 
Undoubtedly  the  difficulty  of  negotiating  marriages  without 


146 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


the  indispensable  dowry  or  "  dot"  is  an  active  promoter  of  illic 
it  connections  between  beauty  and  wealth.  Faulty  and  in 
exorable  social  laws  are  equally  as  accountable  for  this  state 
of  morals  as  individual  frailty. 

It  is  from  this  class  that  we  can  select  the  most  striking  vi 
cissitudes  of  female  career.  In  their  youth,  redolent  with  love 
liness,  buried  as  it  were  in  the  wealth  laid  at  their  feet,  the 
mistresses  of  many  hearts  and  purses,  living  in  apartments 
more  luxuriously  furnished  than  those  of  any  palace,  daily  ex 
hibiting  their  envied  charms  in  sumptuous  equipages  in  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  nightly  outshining  aristocratic  beauty 
at  the  Opera,  they  purchase  their  short-lived  sensuous  career 

at  the  expense  of  an  age 
of  regretful  misery  and 
repulsive  employments. 
Look  on  this  picture 
and  then  on  that.  Lov 
ers  and  loveliness  have 
fled.  The  triumphs  of 
vanity  are  now  succeed 
ed  by  the  retributions  of 
want  and  age.  Folly 
and  extravagance  have 
proved  but  indifferent 
foster-parents  for  infirm 
ity  and  loss  of  beauty. 
The  harvest  of  sin  is  be 
ing  reaped  on  her  with 
ered,  charmless  frame. 
Can  you  recognize  in 
this  sad  ruin  the  joyous 
being  whose  life  but  a 
few  years  before  was 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


147 


one  holiday  ?  Perhaps  she  was  an  actress,  and  you  yourself 
covered  her  with  flowers  and  bravos.  Her  garments  are  now 
the  mockery  of  former  elegance,  even  as  she  is  the  phantom 
of  previous  loveliness.  She  takes  your  cloak,  and  offers  you  a 
programme  or  cricket  as  you  enter  your  "  logo,"  for  she  has 
become  a  simple  "  ouvreuse,"  or  door-keeper  to  the  boxes  at 
the  theatres  and  opera-houses,  but  too  grateful  to  receive  a 
few  sous  where  once  she  threw  away  gold.  In  Paris  there  are 
four  hundred  and  sixty-seven  "  ouvreuses,"  who  depend  for 
their  subsistence  upon  the  voluntary  contributions  of  the  pub 
lic.  Some  favored  few  are  said  to  gain  2000  francs  a  year, 
while  others  are  reduced  to  as  many  hundreds.  They  have 
the  privilege  of  dying  in  a  hospital,  and  being  buried  in  the 


THE  GR1SETTE. 


148 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


common  "fosse"  or  pit.  The  situation  of  the  "  ouvreuse,"  al 
though  it  requires  the  possessor  to  be  up  until  after  midnight, 
Is  one  of  the  easiest,  or,  as  Americans  would  say,  one  of  the 
most  genteel  resorts  for  feminine  decay  and  poverty. 

Many  of  the  occupations  which  females  fill  are  such  as  can 
have  their  origin  only  in  the  fertile  soil  of  a  rank,  aristocratic 
civilization.  They  are  of  every  shade  of  integrity  and  crime, 
refinement  and  grossness,  from  that  of  the  honest  and  virtuous 
grisette,  who  laboriously  plies  her  needle  in  her  cosy  garret 
room,  to  the  political  spy,  fashionable  pimp,  or  haggish  cor- 
rupter  of  virginity  in  the  pay  of  hoary  debauchism,  both  ex- 


THE  TEMPTERS  AND  THE  TEMPTED. 


THE   GARBAGE-GATHERER 


150         PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

hibiting  in  their  physiognomies  the  traces  of  every  vice  that 
degrades  human  nature.  They  include  alike  the  bewitching 
glove-mender  of  Sterne,  the  more  stately  elegance  of  the 
"  dames  du  comptoir,"  and  the  wretched  vender  of  old  hats, 
or  peddler  of  all  wares,  and  agent  for  every  necessity  which 
pride,  poverty,  or  shame  seek  to  hide  from  daylight.  Even 
here  we  have  not  sounded  the  depths  of  the  more  laborious 
and  disgusting  of  the  female  out-door  employments.  At  all 
seasons,  the  shearer  of  dogs  and  cats,  and  the  gatherer  of  gar 
bage,  whose  sweetest  bouquet  is  a  reeking  pile  of  street  filth, 
are  to  be  seen  pursuing  their  calling.  They  are  worthy  of 
all  commendation  for  their  determination  to  earn  their  daily 
bread  rather  by  the  sweat  of  their  brows  than  the  charity  of 
the  public  or  the  chances  of  crime. 

The  female  copyists  at  the  Louvre  are  a  numerous  class, 
with  a  decidedly  artistic  air  in  the  negligence  of  their  toilets. 
They  find  time  both  to  fulfill  their  orders,  and  have  an  eye  to 
spare  to  the  public,  particularly  to  their  male  brethren.  When 
they  are  employed  upon  ordered  copies,  they  work  with  assidu 
ity  ;  when  not,  they  more  agreeably  divide  their  time  between 
complaisant  beaux  and  the  arts.  As  for  the  rest,  they  have 
for  their  home,  during  most  of  the  week,  the  comfortable  gal 
leries  of  the  finest  museum  in  Europe  ;  inhabiting  a  palace  by 
day,  and  sleeping  in  a  garret  at  night.  The  patronage  of  the 
government  is  sometimes  ludicrously  applied  toward  the  fine 
arts.  An  applicant  for  a  post  in  the  bureau  of  the  telegraph 
received  an  order  to  execute  a  bust  in  marble — not  an  impos 
sibility,  if  he  allowed  himself  the  same  latitude  of  execution 
which  a  certain  Minister  of  the  Interior  is  said  to  have  advised 
to  the  widow  of  an  employe,  powerfully  recommended  to  his 
favorable  consideration.  He  gave  her  an  order  for  a  copy  of 
the  mammoth  painting  of  Jesus  at  the  house  of  Martha  and 
Mary,  by  Paul  Veronese. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


15: 


"  But,  Monsieur  the  Minister,  I  do  not  know  how  to  paint ;  I 
never  touched  a  brush  in  my  life." 

"  Never  mind  :  take  the  copy.  You  can  have  it  done  by 
another,  and  arrange  to  receive  the  pay."  The  obliging  coun 
sel  was  not  lost. 

I  have  given  but  a  few  out  of  the  extraordinary  employ 
ments  of  the  female  sex  at  Paris — enough,  however,  to  show 
that  there  is  a  wide  difference  between  the  relative  positions 
of  the  poorer  classes  in  France  and  the  United  States.  I 
should  be  doing  injustice  to  the  most  formidable  type  of  all 
were  I  to  omit  the  renowned  "  Dames  des  Halles,"  a  class  of 
women  not  only  numerous, 
and  in  many  instances  weal 
thy,  but  of  sufficient  politic 
al  importance  to  cause  their 
good  will  to  be  courted  by 
Louis  Napoleon,  by  fetes, 
balls,  and  courteous  speech 
es,  which  they  return  by 
complimentary  deputations 
empowered  to  salute  him  on 
both  cheeks,  and  leave  in  his 
hands  bouquets  of  well-nigh 
sufficient  volume  as  to  en 
tirely  eclipse  him.  These 
ladies  possess  a  vocabulary 
of  their  own,  the  most  com 
pendious  of  all  idioms  in 
terms  of  vulgar  vituperation. 
Their  profession,  as  one  may 

VI  •  i  DAME    DES    HALLES. 

readily  conceive,  is   not   al 
ways  of  the  sweetest  nature  ;  but  why  they,  of  all  the  laboring 
sisterhood,  should  be  so  particularly  ambitious  of  distinguish- 


152          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

ing  themselves  by  the  use  of  an. "  argot"  terrible  to  uninitiated 
ears,  it  is  not  so  easy  to  conceive.  The  highest  exertion  of 
their  intellectual  faculties  is  to  coin  new  expressions  for  their 
slang  war-whoop.  Yet  even  on  this  ground  they  are  some 
times  defeated  by  a  battery  of  epithets  more  stunning  than 
their  own.  The  last  case  was  as  follows :  A  Polytechnic 
student,  seeing  a  formidable-looking  specimen  of  this  genus 
barricaded  by  monsters  of  lobsters  and  huge  piles  of  fish,  laid 
a  wager  with  Iris  companion  that  he  would  "  dismount"  her 
(so  the  term  goes)  with  her  own  weapons.  "  Done,"  said  his 
friend,  as  he  placed  himself  safely  behind  an  avalanche  of 
vegetables  to  see  the  fun. 

"  How  do  you  sell  this  carp,  mother?" 

"  That  carp  ?  That  is  worth  one  hundred  sous  if  it  is  worth 
one  franc,  my  blackguard !  But,  as  you  are  a  pretty  boy,  you 
shall  take  it  for  four  francs  and  a  half.  Eh  !  it  is  given  away 
at  that ;  but  one  has  a  weakness  for  youth." 

"  I  will  give  you  only  thirty  sous,  and  you  shall  cook  it  for 
me." 

"  Stop  !  don't  bother  me  !  You  want  to  buy  a  broth  under 
market  price.  Let  me  look  a  bit  at  the  little  fellow !  Three 
bantam  chickens  and  he,  by  my  faith,  would- go  well  before  a 
coach." 

The  fish-woman,  like  a  locomotive,  had  now  started,  at  one 
jump,  at  a  prodigious  rate,  and  one  might  as  well  have  at 
tempted  to  stop  with  a  straw  the  one  as  the  other.  The 
reader  will  not,  I  am  sure,  exact  of  me  a  repetition  of  her  ti 
rade.  The  vocabulary  of  oaths  and  blackguardism  was  never 
nighcr  being  entirely  exhausted.  Want  of  breath  at  last 
brought  her  to  a  half-halt,  when  her  boyish  opponent,  put 
ting  himself  into  a  tragic  attitude,  broke  in  with, 

"  Will  you  hold  your  tongue,  frightful  hydrocyanure  of  pot 
ash  !  execrable  chlorozoic  acid '.  hideous  logarithmic  progres- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          153 

sion,  indissoluble  hygrometre  of  Saussure,  detestable  square 
of  the  hypotheneuse,  abominable  parallelepiped !"  and  on 
rushed  the  student  of  the  Polytechnic  School,  sure  of  never 
being  repulsed  on  this  ground,  through  the  entire  chemical, 
algebraic,  and  geometrical  nomenclature,  setting  at  defiance  all 
scientific  arrangement  in  his  zeal  to  overwhelm  his  foe.  At 
first  the  fire  flashed  from  her  eyes  as  her  excited  imagination 
conceived  every  abominable  reproach  to  be  conveyed  in  the 
meaning  of  the  incomprehensible  words  that,  for  the  first  time, 
saluted  her  ear.  As  he  proceeded,  she  became  stupefied,  and, 
as  an  expiring  effort  of  despair,  shouted  out  to  know  from  what 
infernal  regions  he  had  stolen  such  a  diabolical  array  of  abuse. 
The  young  man  paused  for  a  moment,  and  recommenced  with 
the  classification  of  plants  and  the  cragged  terms  of  geology. 
"  For  the  sake  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  stop  ;  I  give  in.  You  are 
no  white-nose,  my  little  fellow !  Take  the  carp  and  wel 
come,"  said  the  dame,  in  the  excess  of  her  admiration  at  an 
exhibition  of  lingual  power  that  left  hers  far  in  the  shade. 

In  the  United  States  we  have  a  monotonous  display  of 
broadcloth  and  silks,  with  no  distinguishing  features  by  which 
one  class  of  citizens  can  be  discriminated  from  the  other.  The 
individual  alone  may  be  remarked  by  his  taste,  but  his  species 
can  not  be  detected  by  his  dress.  Not  so  in  Paris.  Every  oc 
cupation  has  its  fashion,  its  cut,  its  air,  as  distinct  and  discern 
ible  as  the  uniforms  of  the  army.  Each  is  so  fitted  to  its  cos 
tume  that  it  would  be  at  home  in  no  other.  The  washer 
woman  can  never  be  mistaken  for  the  cook,  nor  the  nurse  for 
the  grisette.  The  bourgeois  remains  the  bourgeois  ;  the  foot 
man  never  burlesques  the  general  of  division  ;  the  workman 
no  more  thinks  of  leaving  his  blouse  than  the  oyster  his  shell ; 
in  fact,  each  individual  of  this  city  is  as  readily  classified  by 
his  costume  as  any  animal  by  its  skin  and  shape.  Their  in 
door  localities  are  also  as  distinct  as  those  of  the  brute  varie- 

G  2 


154          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

ties  of  the  animal  kingdom.  All  cleave  to  their  particular 
quarters  with  the  adhesiveness  of  a  special  instinct.  Like 
strong  and  separate  currents,  their  outer  edges  only  mingle, 
filling  the  thoroughfares  with  a  picturesque  crowd,  on  which 
one  is  never  tired  of  gazing. 

The  difference  between  the  two  nations  is  equally  as  per 
ceptible  in  the  tariff  of  prices.  "We  generalize  ;  they  particu 
larize.  We  name  a  round  sum,  which  covers  all  charges  ; 
their  first  charge  is  but  a  foundation  for  an  infinitesimal  dose 
of  others.  In  New  York,  call  a  carriage,  and  the  driver  takes 
you  and  your  baggage  to  a  given  point  for  a  round  sum.  In 
Paris,  attempt  the  same,  and  the  result  will  be  as  follows  : 
Your  baggage  is  to  be  brought  down  ;  that  calls  for  a  porter 
and  one  payment.  You  have  called  a  coach,  and,  as  you  are 
stepping  in,  a  "  commissionaire"  takes  hold  of  the  door,  and, 
with  cap  in  hand,  asks  you  to  remember  him  :  his  service 
has  been  to  shut  it ;  payment  No.  2.  You  stop  ;  another  com 
missionaire  opens  the  door;  payment  No.  3.  You  pay  the 
driver  his  legal  fare — payment  No.  4 — and  think  you  are 
through.  But  do  not  take  such  consolation  to  your  purse. 
Monsieur  has  forgotten  the  "  pour  boire,"  politely  remarks 
Jehu,  and  you  derive  from  him  the  gratifying  information  that 
custom  allows  him  to  demand  the  wherewithal  to  buy  a  dram, 
and  this  makes  payment  No.  5,  for  the  simple  operation  of 
getting  into  a  hackney-coach.  This  principle  extends  through 
every  branch  of  pecuniary  intercourse,  and,  after  all,  is  a  wise 
one,  for,  by  this  rule,  we  pay  only  for  services  rendered  and 
dinners  eaten. 

With  the  term  "  Paris  fashions"  we  associate  only  ideas  of 
periodical  importations  of  novelties  of  refinement  and  elegance 
in  dress  and  style  of  living.  But  this  view  is  as  imperfect  as 
that  of  judging  of  the  actual  condition  of  France  only  by  its 
parks  and  palaces.  The  female  sex,  as  it  appears  to  me,  take 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


155 


the  first  choice  of  employments,  leaving  to  men  such  only  as 
they  do  not  find  to  their  interest  or  taste.  The  life-sketches 
already  given  show  that  these  are  sufficiently  bizarre  to  ex 
cite  our  surprise,  though  not  always  our  envy.  There  are  cer 
tain  provinces  that  appear  to  be  neutral  ground,  such  as  those 
of  street-minstrels,  chifFonniers,  peddlers,  newspaper-venders, 
and  w  merchants"  of  crimes,  as  the  ill-omened  cryers  of  the 
prolific  catalogue  of  tragic  events  are  technically  called.  These 
birds  of  evil  announce,  with  startling  intonations,  their  list  of 
assassinations,  poisonings,  suicides,  and  capital  executions,  ex 
tracted  from  the  judicial  journals,  for  sale  at  the  fixed  price  of 
a  sou  each.  Those  who  have  a  keen  taste  for  the  horrible 
can  gratify  it  at  a  cheap  rate  by  the  inspection  of  the  "  mer 
chant"  and  his  stock  in  trade.  Like  the  vulture,  he  appears 
to  grow  foul  from  the  garbage  that  supplies  his  food. 


MERCHANT    OF    CRIMES. 


DATE-SELLER- 


156          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


•The  "  date-merchant"  must  nec 
essarily  be  a  man,  as  no  female 
could  furnish  the  requisite  amount 
of  beard  to  counterfeit  satisfacto 
rily  the  Turk.  This  disguise  is 
assumed  to  prove  the  Oriental  ori 
gin  of  his  fruit,  and  to  strike  the 
imagination  of  his  juvenile  pat 
rons. 

No  one  will  dispute  the  inclina 
tion  of  the  female  sex  to  carry 
their  heads  high,  but  we  doubt 
whether  one  has  ever  been  found 
to  compete  with  the  basket-mer 
chant  in  his  extraordinary  head 
dress,  moving  as  easily  and  grace 
fully  through  the  streets  with  this 
Babel  of  straw  and  wicker-work 
on  his  head  as  if  it  were  simply 
the  latest  style  of  coifTure.  Of 
course,  he  can  only  put  out  with 
his  pyramidical  bazar  on  a  still 
day,  as  a  head  wind,  or  any  wind 
at  all,  would  speedily  bare  his 
head,  and  send  his  baskets  flying 
in  all  directions,  a  joyous  fete  for 
avaricious  urchins,  but  ruinous  to 
him. 

The  merchant  of  "  death  to  the  rats"  belongs  to  an  expiring 
race.  Long  have  the  cats  looked  with  envy  upon  his  spoils, 
hung  upon  a  pole,  with  which  he  walks  the  streets,  typical  of 
his  profession.  But  they  who  have  longest  known  his  meagre 
countenance  will  soon  know  him  no  longer.  Whether  any  of 


BASKET-SELLER. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


157 


the  "  dinners  for  seventy-five  centimes"  restaurants  will  raise 
their  bill  of  fare  on  account  of  his  exit  remains  to  be  seen.  A 
company  has  been  formed,  with  a  capital  of  three  hundred 
thousand  francs,  for  the  extirpation  of  all  the  rats  of  Paris. 
.If  a  cordon  of  cats  is  to  be  established  around  the  city  to  keep 
out  the  country  rats,  hare  will  become  a  rare  dish  in  more  than 
one  cheap  restaurant. 


DEATH  TO  RATS. 


THE  TOMB  OF  SECRETS. 


The  last  masculine  occupation  that  I  shall  cite  is  one  which 
no  female  ever  aspired  to,  from  the  consciousness  that  it  ex 
acts,  perhaps,  the  only  accomplishment  that  she  despairs  of 
attaining.  Its  motto  is  "  the  Tomb  of  Secrets,"  and  its  chief- 
est  attribute,  silence.  The  professor  must  be  more  dumb  than 
Memnon,  but  with  an  ear  as  keen  and  comprehensive  as  that 
of  Dionysius.  He  is  a  depositary  of  secrets  of  the  heart  and 


158          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

hopes  of  the  purse,  a  framer  of  petitions,  the  agent  of  intrigues 
— in  fact,  a  confessor-general  to  the  unlettered  multitude,  re 
ducing  into  a  transmissible  shape  the  desires  of  the  unfortu 
nate  Monsieur  or  Madame  to  whom  the  mysteries  of  writing 
remain  a  hieroglyphical  puzzle.  Their  numbers  are  suffi 
ciently  indicative  of  the  ignorance  of  the  inhabitants  at  large. 
Yet  it  often  happens  that  the  silence  of  his  mummified  exist 
ence  is  uninterrupted  for  hours.  Then,  perhaps,  his  skill  is 
taxed  by  a  tricky  cook,  who,  perplexed  by  the  unreconcilable 
balances  of  her  receipts  and  disbursements,  seeks  an  accom 
plice  to  reduce  her  accounts  to  the  required  condition  to  pass 
examination.  To  live,  it  is  necessary  to  be  silent,  yet  a  blush 
will  sometimes  steal  over  his  withered  cheek  as  he  obediently 
enters  in  the  account  the  bread  bought  by  the  cook  at  one  sou, 
charged  to  Madame,  the  mistress,  at  two  sous,  and  thus,  by  a 
discreet  use  of  the  rule  of  multiplication,  finally  obtains  the 
coveted  balance. 

The  American  laborer,  who  consumes  in  one  day  more  meat 
than  the  family  of  a  French  "  ouvrier"  in  a  week,  would  fam 
ish  upon  their  bill  of  fare.  The  necessity  which  begets  many 
of  their  employments  pays,  also,  but  poor  wages.  Yet  what 
would  be  considered  in  the  United  States  as  a  tribute  fit  only 
for  the  swill-tub,  would,  by  skill  and  economy,  be  made  to  fur 
nish  a  welcome  meal.  The  dietetic  misery  of  the  former 
country  would  prove  the  savory  competency  of  the  latter.  But, 
whatever  may  be  the  composition  of  their  frugal  repasts,  they 
are  eaten  with  a  zest  and  good-humor  that  are  not  always 
guests  at  more  sumptuous  repasts.  The  American  laborer  eats 
the  same  quality  of  meat  and  bread  as  his  employer.  Either 
of  these,  to  the  French  workman,  would  be  equivalent  to  a 
fete.  His  bread  is  coarser,  meat  inferior,  and  throughout  his 
whole  diet  there  is  the  same  difference  in  quality  as  in  his 
clothes.  Many  of  the  necessaries  of  his  American  brother  ho 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          159 

only  knows  by  seeing  them  in  shop  windows.  We  are  also 
able  to  rear  Louvres  and  Versailles  ;  to  build  cathedrals  and 
erect  triumphal  gateways  ;  but,  in  our  present  stage  of  civili 
zation,  they  would  take  the  chicken  out  of  every  workman's 
pot,  and  drive  his  children  from  the  common  schools  to  the 
fields  and  factories. 

The  science  of  living  well  at  a  cheap  rate  is  not  understood 
in  the  United  States.  General  necessity  has  not  as  yet  begot 
ten  that  special  knowledge.  In  Paris,  thirteen  sous  will  pro 
vide  a  tolerable  dinner  of  a  dish  of  soup,  loaf  of  bread,  and  a 
plate  of  meat  and  vegetables  "  mele."  This  species  of  healthy 
and  economical  alimentation  is  the  heritage  of  a  large  class 
of  workmen,  and  even  of  impoverished  students  and  artists, 
who  seek  these  cheap  restaurants  under  the  convenient  cloud 
of  the  incognito.  There  are  other  resorts  where  they  can  eat 
at  the  rate'  of  fifteen  sous  by  the  first  hour,  eight  sous  by  the 
second,  and  so  on,  the  chief  diet  being  roast  veal,  as  good  a 
name  as  any  other,  provided  the  alimentary  faith  is  unshaken. 
"We  even  find  dinners  at  four  sous,  composed  of  four  courses, 
as  follows : 

Vegetable  soup 1  sou. 

Bread 1    " 

Montagnards  (great  red  beans) 1     " 

Coffee  with  sugar 1    ' 

or  four  sous  per  head.  It  is  needless  to  observe  that  to  swal 
low  the  "  coffee"  (which  in  Paris  costs  forty  cents  a  pound)  re 
quires  even  more  faith  than  the  roast  veal  or  a  Romish  mir 
acle.  Not  a  few  sewing-girls,  or  domestics  out  of  place,  dine 
daily  on  a  sou's  worth  of  bread.  The  table-service  of  the  din 
ners  at  four  sous  is  very  simple.  The  table  is  an  enormous 
block  of  wood,  the  surface  of  which  is  dug  out  into  the  form 
of  bowls  and  plates.  To  each  hole  are  attached,  with  iron 
chains,  knives,  forks,  and  spoons  of  the  same  metal.  A  buck- 


160          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

et  of  water  dashed  over  the  whole  serves  to  "  lay  the  table"  for 
the  diners  next  in  course. 

The  examples  already  given  are  sufficient  to  illustrate  the 
modes  of  livelihood  and  the  quality  of  the  diet  of  this  class  of 
the  population.  To  finish  the  sketch,  it  is  necessary  to  show 
how  they  amuse  and  whence  they  clothe  themselves.  Edu 
cation  and  religion  would,  with  us,  be  the  primary  objects  of 
inquiry,  but  here  they  are  lost  sight  of  in  the  furor  of  amuse 
ment.  Their  colleges  and  churches  are  the  low  theatres  that 
line  the  Boulevard  du  Temple,  aptly  designated  as  the  Boule 
vard  of  Crimes,  from  the  characteristics  of  the  plays  here  per 
formed.  These  are  applauded  by  their  mongrel  audiences,  a 
large  proportion  of  which  are  children,  nurses,  and  even  in 
fants,  in  proportion  as  they  are  filled  with  the  horrible,  super 
natural,  ooscene,  vulgar,  and  blasphemous.  Murders,  fights, 
licentiousness,  assassinations,  double-entendre,  and  the  coarsest 
jokes,  are  their  stock  in  trade.  Tlje  most  sacred  subjects,  even 
death,  and  the  tenants  of  the  grave,  and  spirits  of  heaven  and 
hell,  are  ridiculously  parodied.  Their  very  exaggeration  of 
what  is  false  or  low  in  human  nature  makes  them  indeed 
amusing,  but  no  one  can  witness  their  performances,  inter 
rupted  as  they  are  by  the  stunning  shouts  of  the  enthusiastic 
spectators,  without  being  convinced  that  they  are  powerful 
auxiliaries  to  infidelity  and  crime.  Their  influences  are  de 
basing,  promotive  of  skepticism,  and  particularly  destructive 
to  the  quiet  virtues  of  domestic  life.  AYhen  the  public,  as  has 
happened  within  three  years,  crowd  its  area  to  see  its  youngest 
and  handsomest  actress  appear  as  Eve  on  the  stage,  entirely 
naked,  with  the  exception  of  a  scanty  piece  of  flesh-colored 
silk  tightly  drawn  over  the  loins,  we  may  safely  conclude  that 
the  habitues  of  the  "Boulevard  des  Crimes"  are  not  over-nice 
in  their  moral  standard  for  the  drama.  Adultery  is  the  staple 
joke,  and  a  deceived  husband  a  legitimate  butt.  Even  at 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


161 


the  Grand  Opera,  female  nudity  commands  a  high  premium, 
and  at  all,  modesty  or  veneration  would  be  considered  as  the 
affectations  of  prudery. 

If  the  theatre  may  he  considered  as  their  church,  the  "  esta- 
minets,"  or  cafes,  where  smoking  is  allowed,  and  the  dram 
shops,  may  as  appropriately  be  classed  as  their  common 
schools.  The  pleasures  of  the  French  are  not  of  a  fireside 
character :  publicity  gives  them  their  chiefest  zest.  Conse 
quently,  the  time  which  rightfully  belongs  to  the  family  is  de 
voted  to  the  "  estaminet."  True,  the  bachelor  lives  or  the 


ESTAMINET. 

forbidding  homes  of  the  lower  orders  would  seem  to  open  to 
them  no  other  resource,  and  at  them  they  can  enjoy  the  fire  and 
lights,  which  are  often  beyond  their  means  under  their  own 
roofs.  I  do  not,  however,  inquire  into  the  causes,  but  speak 
only  of  the  effects  of  existing  customs.  Evenings  thus  spent 
amid  the  fumes  of  the  vilest  of  tobacco,  and  the  excitement  of 


162 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


equally  bad  liquors,  make  fit  disciples  for  the  barricades,  but 
poor  citizens  of  a  republic. 

The  market  of  the  Temple,  or,  as  it  is  more  commonly  called, 
that  of  old  linen,  is  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  sights  of 
Paris.  It  is  a  huge  wooden  bazar,  open  on  all  sides,  divided 
into  four  grand  and  innumerable  little  avenues,  and  cut  up  into 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          163 

1888  miniature  shops,  rented  by  the  city  at  thirty- three  sous 
each  weekly,  producing  an  annual  income  of  about  $32,000. 
There  are  four  quarters,  known  respectively  as  the  "  Carre  du 
Palais  Royal,"  a  sort  of  parody  on  the  true  Palais  Royal,  com 
prising  the  silk,  lace,  and  glove  merchants,  and  the  venders 
of  every  species  of  foppery  required  to  make  up  the  second- 
rate  lion,  or  copy  of  a  fine  lady.  Here,  too,  are  the  traps  or 
baiting-places  of  sellers  of  bric-a-brac,  who  waylay  their  prey 
in  the  vestibules,  and  thence  conduct  them  to  their  rich  wares 
close  by,  buried  in  the  most  frightful  of  houses.  Among  them 
we  find  furniture  of  buhl,  porcelain  of  Sevres  and  Japan,  a 
world  of  curiosities,  and  an  untold  wealth  of  satins,  and  the 
richest  of  merchandise,  sold  cheaper,  because  stored  cheaper, 
than  in  the  luxurious  shops  of  the  Rue  Yivienne  and  Rue  de 
la  Paix.  The  stupefied  customer,  who  sought  a  cheap  baga 
telle,  finds  himself  confronted  in  these  obscure  retreats  by  ar 
tistic  caprices  to  be  had  for  no  less  than  10,000  francs  each. 

The  second  quarter,  the  Pavilion  of  Flora,  a  little  less  aris 
tocratic  than  the  preceding,  comprises  the  more  useful  house 
hold  objects,  of  a  cheap  and  dubious  character. 

In  the  third,  "  le  Pou  Volant"  (the  reader  will  pardon  me 
the  translation),  rags,  old  iron,  and  indescribable  wares  pre 
dominate.  The  fourth,  and  most  hazardous,  is  "  the  Black 
Forest,"  a  medley  of  every  cheap  abomination,  new  and  sec 
ond-hand. 

This  bazar  has  its  peculiar  slang  and  types  of  inhabitants. 
The  little  shops  are  called  "  ayonsT  Hugo  naively  remarks, 
why  not  "haillons."  The  curious  observer  can  penetrate  the 
first  two  quarters  without  other  inconvenience  than  repeated 
but  courteous  applications  for  his  custom.  But  it  requires 
considerable  courage  and  self-possession  to  penetrate  the  mys 
teries  of  the  "  Pou  Volant"  and  the  "  Foret  Noire."  Harpies, 
scarcely  recognizable  as  of  the  female  sex,  beset  his  progress, 


164          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


THE   PAVILION  OF  FLC 


seize  him  by  the  arms  or  garments,  and  menace  in  their  ri 
valry  literally  to  divide  him  into  halves.  These  runners  are 
termed,  in  the  argot  idiom,  "  raleuses."  Escaping  them,  he  is 
assailed  by  a  flanking  fire  of  direct  apostrophes,  half  in  argot, 
from  their  employers.  "  My  amiable  sir,  buy  something — buy 
— you  must  buy.  What  does  Monsieur  want?  a  carpet — a 
coat  to  go  to  a  ball — a  cloak,  first  quality — a  '  niollej  good 
quality  —  a  decrochez-moipa,  for  Madame,  your  wife — patent 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          165 


LA  FORET   NOIRE. 


boots — an  umbrella — a  '  pelusej  all  the  'frusques*  of  St.  John, 
at  your  choice." 

Should  the  adventurer  continue  on  his  way  without  reply 
ing  to  the  temptations  of  these  commercial  syrens,  a  torrent  of 
mingled  abuse  and  irony  is  discharged  upon  him.  "  Ah  !  in 
deed  !  how  much  he  buys  !  Very  well — one  must  excuse  him. 
What  did  he  come  here  for,  this  picayune  fellow  ?  I  say, 
Monsieur,  let  us,  at  the  least,  mend  the  elbows  of  your  coat. 
He  carries  his  body  well,  to  be  sure.  Ohe !  pane !  Let  the 


166 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


gentleman  pass.     He  is  an  ambassador  on  his  way  to  the  court 
of  Persia.     Hei !" 

Just  beyond  this  bazar  rises  the  "  Rotonde  du  Temple,'* 
which  is  to  its  neighbor  what  the  common  graves  at  Pere  la 
Chaise  are  to  the  rest  of  the  cemetery.  It  is  the  receptacle  of 
all  the  debris  of  human  attire,  too  mean  to  find  shelf-room 
even  in  the  market  of  "  old  linen."  One  sees  a  pandemoni- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          167 

um  of  rags,  tattered  garments,  rent  boots,  old  hats,  and  every 
object  upon  which  the  heart  of  a  scavenger  Jew  dotes.  Cos 
tumes  which  have  survived  the  saturnalia  of  many  a  carnival, 
and  uniforms  discharged  by  the  order  of  the  day  or  the  death 
of  their  proprietors,  dating  from  the  empire  down,  theatrical 
wardrobes  too  venerable  for  active  service,  and  fashions  which 
have  long  since  been  driven  from  human  backs,  are  here  min 
gled  in  one  picturesque  equality  of  poverty.  Even  out  of  such 
a  collection  Parisian  taste  contrives  to  make  a  not  unpleasing 
effect.  As  with  Parisian  pauperism,  it  has  a  cleaner  and  more 
cheerful  look  than  English  indigence  and  old  clothes. 

The  Rotonde  is  circular,  with  a  cloister  of  forty-four  ar 
cades  in  the  exterior.  A  damp  and  dark  court  occupies  the 
interior.  It  is  a  species  of  low  rival  to  the  bazar,  and  limit 
ed  in  its  circumference  ;  but  it  is  computed  to  lodge  more  than 
a  thousand  inhabitants.  They  drink  and  dine  at  the  neighbor 
ing  wine-shops  and  cafes,  known  as  the  Elephant,  Two  Lions, 
and  kindred  names.  At  these,  brandy  is  eight  sous  the  bot 
tle,  a  ragout  three  sous,  and  a  cup  of  coffee  one  cent.  There 
are  resorts  still  cheaper  and  lower,  such  as  the  "  Field  of  the 
Wolf,"  frequented  by  the  most  brutal  of  the  denizens  of  this 
quarter,  who  in  their  orgies  not  unfrequently  mingle  blood 
with  the  blue  fluid  that  they  swallow  for  wine.  The  greater 
part  of  these  dram-shops  add  to  their  debasing  occupation  that 
of  usury.  But,  as  we  have  now  arrived  at  that  point  where 
the  line  which  marks  the  boundary  between  legitimate  indus 
try  and  crime  becomes  indistinct,  I  stop. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    PAST    AND    PRESENT    OF    THE    STREETS    OF    PARIS. 

CHANGE,  more  than  growth,  is  the  prominent  trait  of  Eu 
ropean  cities.  It  is  true  that  some  increase  with  a  speed  that 
leaves  but  little  advantage  on  the  side  of  American  progress, 
yet,  in  general,  that  which  chiefly  distinguishes  them  from  our 
towns  is  the  substitution  of  the  new  forms  of  civilization  for 
the  old,  or,  as  we  of  the  nineteenth  century  are  vain  enough 
to  term  it,  improvement.  Old  buildings  are  razed,  to  be  suc 
ceeded  by  modern  palaces,  and  old  habits  perish  with  them. 
Not  only  the  aspect,  but  the  entire  life  of  streets,  is  metamor 
phosed.  Customs  that  had  their  origin  in  the  inconvenience 
and  semi-barbarism  of  the  Middle  Ages,  cease  as  they  come  in 
contact  with  the  generation  that  builds  rail-roads  and  talks  by 
the  telegraph.  We  demand  elegance  as  well  as  utility.  No 
city  has  more  to  boast  of  in  this  respect,  since  the  dawn  of  the 
present  century,  than  Paris.  It  is  rapidly  realizing  its  proud 
claim  of  being  the  capital  of  the  world.  Soon  the  few  linger 
ing  remains  of  the  domestic  life  and  manners  of  the  subjects 
of  Charles  IX.,  and  the  times  when  Catholic  and  Protestant 
met  only  to  revile  and  strike,  will  have  disappeared  under  the 
reforming  trowel  of  ripening  civilization.  House  and  hotel, 
the  plebeian  homes  of  the  slayers  and  the  slain  of  St.Barthe- 
lemi,  as  well  as  the  courtly  residences  of  the  noblest  of  its 
butchers  and  their  victims,  are  being  leveled  to  the  ground, 
not  one  by  one,  but  by  whole  streets  and  squares,  that  their 
descendants  may  breathe  freer  air,  and  sleep  in  more  spacious 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


169 


chambers.  Yet,  with  a  taste  that  contrasts  strangely,  though 
happily,  with  the  fanaticism  that  slew  Jean  Guigon  while  at 
work  upon  the  Louvre,  every  relic  of  his  chisel  is  now  pre 
served  and  restored  with  sacred  care,  as  the  just  tribute  to  a 
genius  which  another  age  may  equal,  but  not  excel.  He  who 
would  see  old  Paris  must  needs  haste,  otherwise  the  gar 
ments  of  the  new  will  have  soon  shut  it  wholly  out  from  sight. 
It  well  repays  the  trouble  of  the  traveler,  whose  relish  of  mod 
ern  ease  has  not  extinguished  within  him  the  desire  to  con 
trast  his  luxury  with  the  luxury  of  his  ancestors — by  way  of 
Adam — to  penetrate  into  the  narrow,  crooked  streets,  so  crook 
ed  that,  like  some  sticks,  it  seems  impossible  for  them  to  lie 
still,  that  now  contain  what  remains  of  old  Paris.  Gtuaint  old 
human  rookeries  look  tottling  down  upon  him.  Turrets  and 
towers  gray  with  the 
dust  and  taste  of  an-  .  , . 
tiquity ;  fanciful  carv 
ings  of  saintly  sub 
jects,  proving  the  or 
thodoxy  of  their  build 
ers  ;  houses  that  lean 
forward  and  lean  back 
ward,  that  lean  upon 
their  neighbors  and 
their  neighbors  lean 
upon  them,  so  irregu 
lar,  so  projecting,  now 
this  way  and  now  that 
way,  story  overlap 
ping  story,  gable  ends  next  to  more  sightly  fronts,  that  he  will 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  they  were  built  long  before  the 
invention  of  the  rule  and  plumb-line,  or  that  the  only  rule  ob 
served  was  that  of  contrariwise,  They  are  now  uniform 

H 


OLD   PARIS. 


170          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

enough  in  their  exhibition  of  poverty.  Its  rags  and  squalor 
are  confined  to  their  intricate  recesses.  "What  is  seen  indi 
cates  thrift  and  industry,  and  many  ways  of  livelihood  not  yet 
domesticated  in  more  fortunate  America.  The  hotels  and 
buildings  of  greatest  pretensions  have  been  converted  into 
manufactories  and  "  magasins."  They  are  now  the  abodes  of 
vast  stores  of  costly  merchandise,  like  the  butterfly  in  its 
chrysalis  state,  with  which  Paris  caters  to  the  taste  and  vanity 
of  the  entire  world. 

Such  is  the  aspect  of  old  Paris.  The  change  may  be  better 
appreciated  by  a  glance  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  in 
new  Paris,  the  Paris  of  the  nineteenth  century,  as  contrasted 

with  the  Paris  of  the 
<^ssf^r^\  Blw^  <  sixteenth.  The  corri 
dors  or  covered  passages 
which  distinguish  this 
style  of  modern  archi 
tecture  are  worthy  of 
being  adopted  in  all  cli 
mates,  for  they  afford  to 
the  pedestrian  an  equal 
protection  against  rain, 
sun,  and  snow,  and  are 

NEW   PARIS.  rr.     .         .,        ,     r  , 

sufficiently  lofty  to  al 
low  beneath  two  stories,  the  rcz-de-chaussee  and  the  entresol, 
the  one  convenient  for  shops  and  the  other  for  small  families. 
Could  both  sides  of  Broadway  be  rebuilt  after  this  plan,  throw 
ing  the  present  sidewalks  into  the  street,  it  would  furnish  the 
much-needed  room  for  carriages,  and  only  abstract  from  the 
lowest  story  of  the  buildings  sufficient  space  for  the  accommo 
dation  of  foot-passengers.  Xew  York  would  then  present  not 
only  the  finest,  but  most  comfortable  street  in  the  world.  !Nor 
is  there  any  other  way  by  which  she  can  secure  equal  room 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES  171 

at  less  expense.  Paris,  in  another  feature,- affords  an  example 
of  judicious  use  of  back  lots,  by  the  erection  of  "passages"  or 
arcades,  which  run  from  street  to  street  through  the  centre  of 
blocks,  paved  with  marble,  and  protected  by  glass  roofs  from 
the  extremes  of  temperature  and  bad  weather.  In  them, 
shopping  is  done  under  cover.  The  most  fashionable,  such  as 
the  Passages  Choiseul,  Panoramas,  and  Jouffroy,  embrace  in 
their  supplies  every  want  to  which  human  flesh  is  heir.  One 
living  in  their  vicinity  finds  them  decidedly  convenient,  and  is 
able  to  despise  an  umbrella,  and  snap  his  fingers  in  the  face 
of  Jehu.  They  afford  also  very  lively  promenades,  especially 
when  brilliantly  lighted  up  of  an  evening.  The  Passage  De- 
lorme,  near  which  I  lived,  not  three  hundred  feet  in  length, 
contained  a  cafe,  restaurant,  optician,  book-store,  reading-room, 
hair-dresser,  boot-maker,  every  shop  and  every  variety  con 
nected  with  male  and  female  toilets,  a  fruit-market,  cigars,  cu 
riosity-shop,  a  boot-black,  and  even  "  a  cabinet  d'aisance," 
kept,  as  all  are,  by  a  woman.  In  short,  I  can  not  name  what 
it  did  not  contain  that  a  person  of  moderate  wants  might  de 
sire.  The  Choiseul  and  the  galleries  of  the  Palais  Royal  em 
brace  theatres  in  their  attractions.  Their  convenience,  and 
economy  of  ground  otherwise  difficult  to  dispose  of,  are  worthy 
of  imitation,  as  spaying  speculation  elsewhere. 

The  garden  of  the  Palais  Royal  possesses  a  curious  attrac 
tion,  which  never  fails  to  draw  a  crowd  at  meridian  of  a 
bright  day.  It  consists  of  a  little  swivel,  so  connected  with  a 
sun-dial  that,  when  the  sun  has  attained  its  full  elevation,  the 
rays  are  concentrated  upon  the  touch-hole,  and  explode  the 
charge,  announcing  that  twelve  o'clock  has  arrived.  It  serves 
for  a  regulator  to  the  numerous  watch-making  establishments 
in  the  vicinity. 

The  variety  of  out-door  female  employments,  particularly 
their  nature,  and  the  unintelligible  cries  attached  to  some,  are 


\72 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


a  never-failing  source  of  surprise  and  amusement  to  a  citizen 
of  a  land  where  all  women  are  "  ladies,"  and  all  their  occupa 
tions  confined  to  the  house.  I  would  particularly  call  the  at 
tention  of  female  reformers,  desirous  of  enlarging  their  sphere 
of  action,  to  a  few  random  specimens  taken  from  the  streets 
of  Paris.  They  will  perceive  that  mankind  are  not  so  selfish 
in  Europe  as  to  monopolize  all  the  more  active  pursuits  of  life, 
as  they  would  fain  have  us  believe  is  the  case  in  America. 
First,  we  have  that  indispensable  being,  the  cook.  Pastry 

and  bread  are  unknown  arts 
to  her  science.  The  fabrica 
tion  of  them  is  not  her  prov 
ince,  but  to  buy  them,  as  well 
as  the  material  of  those  de 
licious  entremets,  in  which 
she  shows  her  intimate 
knowledge  of  stomachic  en 
tertainment,  is  her  diurnal 
duty.  It  affords  her  the 
double  pleasure  of  coquet 
ting  with  your  purse  and  her 
lovers.  The  preparations  for 
one  of  these  gastronomic 
campaigns  is  to  her  a  mat 
ter  of  no  small  moment. 
However  lacking  she  may 
have  been  in  her  particular 
kingdom  in  that  desirable 
quality  reckoned  next  to  god- 

THE  COOK.  liness,    her    advent    in    the 

street  is  signalized  by  an  attention  to  her  toilet,  crowned  by 
the  indispensable  white  cap,  that  renders  her  quite  as  con 
spicuous  to  others  as  to  herself.  She  is  endowed  with  a  sort 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


173 


A  "BONNE"'  OF  ALL  WORK. 


of  medium  figure  and  style  to  those  of  the  two  extremes  of 
"  bonnes,"  or  servants  of  all  work,  alternately  the  drudges  or 
confidantes  of  their  mistress 
es,  as  humor  prompts  or  ne 
cessity  requires.  The  first 
of  these  work  harder  and 
fare  worse  than  Southern 
slaves.  There  is  no  labor, 
however  servile  or  rude,  that 
they  are  not  called  upon  to 
do,  besides  an  indefinite 
amount  of  lying  for  the  ben 
efit  of  their  employers.  One 
far  uglier  than  the  opposite 
figure,  who  had  charge  of 
the  coarse  work  of  an  apart 
ment  I  hired,  interested  me 
much  from  her  invariable  good-humor,  under  labors  various 
and  hard  enough  to  have  aroused  rebellion  in  a  mule.  At 
my  request,  she  gave  me  an  account  of  her  daily  duties, 
which,  as  they  are  but  the  common  lot  of  a  very  large  class 
of  "  help"  in  sunny  France,  may  prove  not  without  a  moral 
to  maid  and  mistress  here.  "  Well,  Louise,  you  keep  me 
waiting  a  long  while  after  ringing  the  bell."  "Yes,  Mon 
sieur,  I  ask  pardon;  but  I  am  called  upon  here  in  the  house, 
and  in  the  shop,  all  at  once.  I  run  as  fast  as  I  can,  but  I 
can't  quite  manage  it,"  she  replied,  laughing.  "  You  have  to 
work  hard,  Louise,  yet  you  are  always  singing  and  happy." 
"  Yes,  Monsieur,  I  was  born  to  work.  Some  persons,  you 
know,  must  work  all  the  time,  and  I  am  one. .  I  rise  at  day 
light,  and  do  all  the  out-door  work  ;  then  I  wait  on  Mademoi 
selle — sometimes  she  is  very  cross,  and  makes  me  go  up  and 
down  stairs  very  often  (three  long  flights) ;  then,  you  know,  I 


174          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

must  be  in  here  early,  to  sweep  and  put  things  to  rights.  Be 
fore  I  am  through  here,  Madame  at  the  shop  calls  me,  and  I 
must  leave  and  go  over  there  (about  three  hundred  feet  off)  ; 
when  I  get  there,  perhaps  she  only  wanted  to  scold  a  bit,  or  to 
pick  up  her  handkerchief.  Then,  you  know,  I  must  come  back, 
and  that  makes  six  nights  of  stairs — that  takes  up  some  time. 
I  get  through  with  your  rooms  by  eleven  o'clock  ;  then  I  have 
two  other  sets  of  apartments  to  take  care  of.  It  wrould  not  be 
so  bad  if  it  were  not  for  the  stairs.  I  quite  forgot,  before  com 
ing  in  here  I  have  the  breakfast  to  buy  and  make  for  Mon 
sieur  and  Madame  at  the  shop.  Would  you  believe  it,  the 
kitchen  is  above  the  shop,  a  bit  of  a  place  no  bigger  than  a 
cart,  and  I  must  buy  all  my  water  and  wood,  and  carry  it  up 
there  myself.  There  is  no  drain  ;  and  every  time  I  have  oc 
casion  to  empty  any  water — and  when  I  cook  vegetables  they 
make  me  wash  them  several  times — I  must  carry  all  the  slops 
below,  and  empty  them  into  the  gutter.  That  makes  my  back 
ache  worst  of  all.  Well,  I  am  no  sooner  through  with  the 
rooms  than  I  have  to  go  out  again  and  buy  the  dinner,  and 
cook  that.  Madame  is  particular,  and  will  have  every  dish 
she  fancies.  After  dinner,  I  go  errands  or  work  in  the  shop. 
I  am  at  it  all  the  time.  By  eleven  at  night  they  let  me  go  to 
bed,  that  is  up  five  nights,  if  they  can't  find  any  thing  more  for 
me  to  do."  "  But  don't  you  have  any  time  to  yourself?"  "  No, 
Monsieur,  not  a  minute.  Sometimes  I  want  to  sew  a  little  at 
night,  but  I  am  so  tired  that  the  moment  I  take  my  needle  I 
fall  asleep."  "  So  you  must  hire  some  one  to  make  all  your 
clothes  ?"  "  Yes  ;  I  have  no  time  for  that."  "  What  do  they 
pay  you?"  "About  seventeen  cents  a  day  ;  and  if  I  break  a 
cup  or  tumbler,  or  injure  any  thing,  they  deduct  it  from  my 
wages.  Sometimes  the  shop-boy  breaks  an  article,  and  Mad 
ame  makes  me  pay  for  it,  because  she  says  it  was  my  business 
to  see  it  was  not  broken.  I  broke  a  glass  in  here  the  other 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          175 

day,  and  went  and  bought  another,  for  fear  Madame  H — 
would  find  it  out -arid  scold  me  badly.  Perhaps  you  did  not 
'know  it  ?"  "  No,  Louise  ;  but  you  need  not  do  so  here,  for  I 
see  you  are  very  careful.  Here,  take  this  money  ;  I  will  pay 
for  it."  "  Indeed,  Monsieur,  you  are  altogether  too  good  ;  it 
was  my  fault." 

On  another  occasion,  I  asked  her  if  she  knew  any  one  to 
whom  some  cast-off  clothing  would  be  useful.  "  Oh  yes, 
Monsieur.  If  Monsieur  will  permit  it,  I  should  so  like  to  have 
them  for  my  boy."  "What!  are  you  married,  Louise?" 
"  Mon  Dieu !  no,"  she  replied,  "  no  one  would  marry  me  ;  I 
am  too  ugly."  I  ascertained  it  was  for  the  son  of  a  former 
mistress,  with  whom  she  had  lived  many  years,  but  who.  at 
last  became  too  poor  to  retain  even  her,  and  she  had  ever 
since,  out  of  her  own  meagre  earnings,  from  gratitude  for  their 
past  kindness,  been  assisting  them.  A  more  contented,  labo 
rious,  and  even  happy  creature  I  never  saw.  Full  of  the  usual 
faults  of  French  domestics,  but  with  a  heart  that  qualified  her 
for  a  saint,  she  was  at  once  the  Achates  and  Griselda  of 
servants.  These  traits  are  not  rare  in  this  humble  class  of 
women.  * 

The  fashionable  "  bonne"  is  a  different  being,  faithful  enough 
to  her  mistress  when 
her  own  interests  or 
vanity  are  not  in  con 
flict.  She  is  the  but 
terfly  domestic,  but  her 
position  is  no  sinecure, 
though  her  wages  and 
fare  are  better  than  her 
more  lowly  prototype. 
French  families  are 
averse  to  receiving  any  *  FASHIONABLE  "BONNE.' 


176 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


servants  who  have  lived  with  foreigners,  on  the  ground  of  their 
being  spoiled  by  too  much  indulgence.  "With  them,  in  general, 
they  are  either  allowed  a  certain  sum  to  find  their  own  wine 
and  food,  or  are  confined  to  a  cheaper  diet  than  that  of  their  em 
ployers.  These  are  small  matters  to  mention,  but  they  have 
an  important  bearing  upon  the  condition  of  a  numerous  class 
of  our  fellow-beings.  French  domestics  are  born,  bred,  live, 
and  die  such — hopeless  and  unambitious  of  a  change,  unless 
an  opportunity  to  marry  offers,  which  is,  in  general,  but  ex 
changing  one  servitude  for  another.  Their  existence  depend 
ing  so  entirely  upon  their  capacities  in  this  line,  they  are  com 
pelled  to  educate  themselves  as  a  race  of  servants. 

Hard  as  may  appear  the  lot  of  female  domestic  servitude, 
there  are  rounds  in  the  social  ladder 
still  more  lowly  and  severe.  The 
fish-women,  as  may  be  seen,  are  no 
beauties,  nor  their  occupation  one  of 
much  refinement.  Their  slang  and 
patois  are  most  amusing,  but  too  vul 
gar  for  repetition,  as  any  one  can  test 
by  hailing  one  of  these  "  dames  dc  la 
lialle"  who  are  but  too  prone  to  give 
verbal  vent  to  their  inward  corrup 
tion.  Woe  to  the  refined  ears  that 
irritate  their  wrath.  Billingsgate  is 
sunshine  in  comparison  to  the  hurri 
cane  of  words  that  pours  from  their  throats.  To  escape  their 
notice,  one  must  pass  through  their  quarters  very  rapidly  and 
abstracted.  Even  then,  random  sounds  of  not  the  most  com 
plimentary  nature  will  greet  his  ears,  unless  stopped  by  tUe 
silver  tribute  in  exchange  for  their  scaly  wares. 

The  flower-girls  are  more   amiable   specimens  of  this  gen 
der,  though  not  all  so  jolie  •  as  my  friend  present.     Age   and 


FISH-WOMAN. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          177 


FLOWER-GIRL. 


CAKE-WOMAN. 


ugliness  make  a  singular  choice  of  livelihoods,  echoing  their 
monotonous  and  inconsistent  cry  with  cracked  and  shrill  voices 
along  the  streets,  "  Here  is  pleasure,  ladies,  here  ;"  in  this  in 
stance,  the  "  pleasure"  being  in  their  baskets,  and  not  in  their 
faces.  Their  stock  in  trade  is  a  kind  of  cake,  made  simply  of 
sugar  and  flour,  lighter  and  thinner  than  vanity  itself.  I  de 
spair  of  exhausting  the  variety  of  female  street  illustrations, 
and  therefore  content  myself  with  picturing  a  few  only,  leav 
ing  imagination  to  supply  the  blanks.  To 
perfect  the  descriptions,  it  would  be  nec 
essary  to  give  the  sounds  that  announce 
their  various  wares  and  occupations.  But 
words  that  few  Frenchmen  even  can  com 
prehend  are  not  always  to  be  understood 
by  a  stranger,  especially  when  their  dis 
cordant  notes  make  deafness  appear  a 
blessing.  Coleridge  once  asked  a  Lon 
don  Jew  why  he  cried  "  Old  do"  contin 
ually  instead  of  "  old  clothes  ?"  "  If  you 
had  cried  it  as  long  as  I  have,"  he  re 
plied,  "you  would  not  ask  why."  The 

H2 


OLD    CLOTHES-MAN. 


178 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


same   cause,  I  presume,  operates  to  produce  the  contractions 
and  horrible  sounds  of  Paris.     Our  old  rag-woman,  though  no 

beauty,  is  a  person  of 
consequence  and  re 
spectability  compared 
with  the  last  profes 
sion  in  the  social  chain, 
that  of  the  "  chiffon- 
nier,"  whose  occupa 
tion  is  to  glean  the 
garbage  of  the  streets. 
Yet  even  from  such 
a  beginning  fortunes 
sometimes  arise.  I  hired  for  the  winter  a  fine  apartment  of  a 
"  chiffonnier,"  who  had  become  a  merchant  of  meubles,  with  an 
annual  income  of  $8000,  and  was  "the  owner  of  a  fine  country- 
seat.  The  "  coco"-man,  with  his  liquorice-water  drink,  in  a 
,  sort  of  pagoda-shaped  tin  ves 

sel,  still  cries,  "  Cool  drink  !" 
under  a  blazing  sun,  bidding 
defiance  to  innovation  and  more 


RAG-WOMAN. 


THE   "COCO"-MAN 


LA    RAVAUDET7SE. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          179 

noxious  fluids.  But  the  tide  of  improvement,  with  the  in 
creasing  love  of  "  eau  de  vies,"  will,  before  long,  sweep  him  off 
from  the  public  stage.  The  "  ravaudeuse,"  or  mender,  is  fast 
disappearing,  but,  as  a  type  of  useful  industry,  is  worthy  of 
being  perpetuated  among  the  records  of  past  life. 

Such   are  some   of  the  figures  of  the  gratuitous  drama  of 
Parisian  life.     There  are  others  no  less  ridiculous  and  iiifiriite- 


BOX-SELLERS. 

ly  more  demoralizing  (if  this  term  can  be  applied  with  pro 
priety  to  any  honest  mode  of  livelihood),  which  I  can  not  omit 
without  doing  injustice  to  a  very  conspicuous  source  of  amuse 
ment  to  all  classes.  I  refer  to  the  public  balls,  commencing 
with  those  in  which  figure  the  wash-women  and  the  fish-wom 
en,  with  their  gallants.  These  are  periodical,  generally  about 
*'  mi-careme,"  or  half  way  through  Lent,  when  Parisian  na 
ture  can  stand  the  penance  of  fast  and  forbearance  from  the 
dance  no  longer,  and  the  Church  is  compelled  to  shut  its  eyes 
at  the  last  and  most  riotous  of  the  masked  balls,  arid  indulge 
their  more  humble  professors  in  one  night's  trip  on  the  light 
fantastic  toe.  The  figures  here  are  somewhat  original,  re 
markable  rather  for  weight  and  emphasis  than  grace.  But  to 
see  dancing  in  all  the  luxuriance  of  unrestrained  French  an- 


ISO  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

imation,  one  must,  if  in  winter,  stroll  into  the  Valentino  or 
Salle  Paganini,  or  during  the  summer  into  the  Bal  Mobile, 
Ranalegh,  in  the  Chateau  des  Fleurs.  In  all  of  these  places 
the  dancing  is  graceful  and  decorous  while  the  sergent  de  mile 
looks  in,  "but  when  his  back  is  turned,  or  his  eyes  have  as 
sumed  a  convenient  abstraction,  fast  and  furious  grows  the 
dance,  till,  in  the  excitement  and  activity  of  the  cancan,  it 


- 


FISH-WOMAN'S  BALL.  CANCAN  LEGER. 

would  seem  as  if  human  muscles,  or,  at  all  events,  garments, 
must  give  way.  In  the  extravagances  of  the  Polynesian 
dances  I  thought  I  had  beheld  the  climax  of  license  in  this 
art,  but  it  was  reserved  for  the  beautiful  and  tastefully-at 
tired  mademoiselle  of  this  capital  to  convince  me  that  I  was 
mistaken.  Imagination  can  not  conceive  any  thing  more  gro 
tesque  than  some  of  its  figures.  They  require,  too,  an  amount 
of  activity  little  short  of  the  miraculous  to  attain  the  full  spirit 
of  the  dance.  In  their  excitement,  the  dancers  literally  strive 
to  jump  out  of  their  skins.  They  make  more  contortions  than 
an  impaled  worm,  and  wind  up  with  a  twirl-about  that  would 
do  credit  to  the  whirling  dervishes.  The  orthodox  license  of 
the  polka  hug  is  somewhat  exceeded,  and  the  embrace  of  the 
waltz  would  astonish  the  warmest  advocates  of  that  dance. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


181 


CANCAN    FLEURI. 


LE   TOURNIQUET. 


"Were  it  not  that  at  this  juncture  the  police  awake  to  their  du 
ties,  it  would  speedily  degenerate  into  a  vulgar  and  disgusting 
display. 

The  word  Republic  sounds  so  gratefully  to  American  ears, 
that  we  are  apt,  in  the  first  glow  of  our  enthusiasm,  to  mistake 
the  name  for  the  reality,  and  give  France  credit  for  a  demo 
cratic  spirit  that  she  does  not  possess.  She  would,  indeed,  be 
a  glorious  ally  to  the  cause  of  democracy,  and  well  might  we 
be  proud  of  her  conversion,  if  it  had  the  merit  of  sincerity. 
The  only  democracy  she  has  thus  far  known  is  anarchy,  from 
the  evils  of  which  she  finds  her  sole  remedy  in  despotism. 
This  is  not  surprising  when  we  examine  her  social  frame.  It 
is  essentially  aristocratic  throughout.  Great  triumphs  have 
indeed  been  won  in  the  cause  of  civil  rights,  and  feudal  servi 
tude  perished  in  1789 ;  but  the  habits  of  centuries  have  be 
come  the  social  constitution  of  the  people,  and  can  not  be  ex 
changed  for  more  healthful  institutions  at  a  mere  declaration 
of  political  rights,  or  baptizing  anew  the  government.  JSTo  at 
tempt  has  yet  been  made  to  train  or  educate  the  nation  into 
republicanism.  Their  aristocratic  framework  of  society,  the 
legitimate  offspring  of  their  long  ages  of  feudalism  and  mon 
archy,  is  still  the  moving  principle  of  the  nation.  In  the 
United  States,  democracy  has  fused  its  followers  into  one  col 
lective  mass — the  people.  This  is  the  only  caste,  the  sole 


182          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

privileged  body  we  possess.  Individuals  differ  in  fortune  and 
position,  but  they  are  all  compelled  to  float  on  the  wide,  equal 
izing  ocean  of  democracy,  now  rising  and  now  disappearing 
in  the  waves,  as  their  own  merits  determine.  Our  institutions 
are  democratic  to  the  back -bone.  Let  him  who  doubts  this 
attempt  to  ape  the  aristocrat.  He  would  meet  with  the  same 
respect  as  did  the  jackdaw  in  the  peacock's  plumes.  In 
France,  society  is  one  of  wide  distinctions,  none  the  less  he 
reditary  by  the  abortive  abolition  of  titles,  or  life  interest  only 
in  patents  of  nobility.  Social  tastes  are 
perpetuated  from  father  to  son.  The 
rule  in  France  is  the  exception  in  the 
United  States,  and  the  exception  in  the 
United  States  is  the  rule  in  France.  In 
the  former,  the  servant  breeds  the  serv 
ant,  the  mechanic  raises  the  mechanic, 
the1  son  of  the  tradesman  stands  behind 
his  father's  counter,  and  blood  clings  to 
race  like  original  sin.  In  the  latter,  the 
laborer  of  one  generation  is  the  leader 
of  the  upper  ten  thousand  in  the  next. 
The  sailor  is  the  father  of  the  merchant,  A  JUVENILE  PORTER- 
the  mechanic  of  the  statesman,  and  the  farmer  of  the  clergy 
man.  Their  children  snuff  the  clod  again,  and  the  wheel  of 
society,  revolving  quickly,  regularly,  and  surely,  gives  all  alike 
a  chance  at  the  top.  This  is  our  natural  condition,  our  do 
mestic  constitution ;  and  he  who  has  faith  in  the  legitimate 
ascendency  of  virtue  and  talent,  and  their  inherent  right  to 
rule,  should  cherish  it  as  the  sacred  pledge  of  the  ultimate 
success  of  the  human  race  in  the  career  of  self-government. 
In  France,  eternal  distinctions  classify  the  human  species. 
Every  caste  has  its  uniform,  and  each  can  be  as  accurately 
classed  by  its  covering  and  color  as  any  cockle  by  the  syster 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


183 


of  Linnaeus.      There  is  no  mistaking  the  son  of  your  porter  for 
the  heir  of  your  friend  the  banker.     The  workmen  of  France 


A    YOUNG    PEER. 


THE  "RED."    THE  "BLOUSE.' 


have  immortalized  the  blouse,  and  the  sympathizing  Red 
equally  disdains  the  niceties  of  apparel  or  cleanliness  of  per 
son.  Every  school  and  trade  has  its  uniform  or  peculiar 
ities  of  costume.  The  grand  social  aim  would  seem  to  be  to 
classify  society  and  isolate  its  professions,  instead  of  blending 
them,  by  uniformity  of  dress  and  absence  of  artificial  dis 
tinctions,  into  one  national  brotherhood.  In  France,  profes 
sions,  trades,  and  the  various  occupations  of  life  are  severally 
consolidated  or  protected  by  civic  privileges,  monopolies,  or 
other  legal  distinctions,  which  perpetuate  a  spirit  of  class,  and 
render  it  difficult  for  one  to  pass  into  the  boundaries  of  anoth 
er.  But  it  is  not  my  design  in  this  place  to  particularize 
more  than  the  fact  of  the  existence  of  these  social  distinctions. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SKETCHES  ABOVE  GROUND  AND  BELOW  GROUND. 

WHO  fails  to  notice  in  the  streets  of  Paris  those  long,  lugu 
brious  processions  of  ark-like  coaches,  blacker  within  and  with 
out  than  ravens,  drawn  by  heavy  black  horses,  with  coal-black 
harness  and  plumes,  and  guided  by  drivers  in  the  same  som 
bre  livery,  the  tout  ensemble  affording  the  greatest  conceivable 
contrast  to  the  brilliant  equipages  so  rapidly  circulating  about 
them  ?  As  they  trail  through  the  streets  with  slow  and  solemn 
pace,  they  appear  to  be  so  many  clumsily-carved  masses  of 
jet,  overspread  with  palls,  and  animated  with  just  sufficient 
life  to  grope  their  way  blindly  back  to  the  dark  mine  whence 
they  issued.  In  their  presence  the  sunlight  seems  to  scowl 
and  shine  askant.  The  gay  crowd  look  at  them  as  birds  of 
evil  omen,  but  respectfully  make,  as  they  pass,  the  only  bows 
that  do  not  call  for  a  return.  Yet  at  all  hours  they  are  to  be 
seen,  sometimes  singly,  standing  like  solitary  crows  in  a  corn 
field  before  the  entrance  of  some  poverty-marked  habitation  ; 
at  others,  in  long  and  pompous  files,  stretching  from  before  a 
church-door,  draperied  with  the  costly  tokens  of  death,  far  down 
the  neighboring  street.  In  the  first  instance,  a  poor  man  has 
died,  and  the  undertaker,  for  a  few  francs  only,  undertakes  to 
give  only  a  few  francs'  worth  of  conventional  respect  to  the 
mortal  remains  he  unceremoniously  hurries  to  its  cheap  grave. 
Not  so  in  the  second  instance.  A  rich  man  may  not  have  died, 
but  the  deceased  has  left  enough  to  pay  for  the  pompous  fu 
neral,  which  law  and  custom  force  the  family  to  accept  from 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          185 


the  sole  company  that  has  the  monopoly  of  interment  for  the 
city  of  Paris.  It  is  rightly  called  the  service-general  of  the 
"Pompes  Funcbres ."  It  pays  largely  for  its  privilege,  and  en 
joys  in  return  the  right  to  make  dying  a  very  expensive  affair 
in  Paris.  The  corpse  belongs,  not  to  friends,  but  to  this  com 
pany,  until  the  worms  claim  their  prerogative.  With  us,  a  fu 
neral  is  a  simple,  inexpensive  affair,  left,  as  all  other  individ 
ual  matters  very  properly  are,  to  the  dictates  of  the  judgment 
or  affection  of  those  who  are  most  interested. 

Not  so  here.  A  funeral,  like  every  other  ceremony,  domes 
tic  or  public,  in  France,  must  be  converted  into  a  spectacle.  A 
dismal  spectacle  they  make  of  it.  Their  black  is  an  intensi 
fied  black,  and  their  cross  and  skull  bones  of  the  most  appal 
ling  patterns  and  colors.  All  that  can  make  a  funeral  chilling 
and  hollow  is  liberally  provided.  If  to  the  present  mercenary 
tokens  of  grief  they  would  add  the  Polynesian  custom  of  paid 
wailing  and  forced  rivulets  of  tears,  the  spectacle  would  be 
more  perfect  of  its  kind. 

I  may  be  considered  as  too  severe  on  the  system  of  funerals, 
but  I  have  before  me  an  official  tariff  of  charges  which  shall 
be  my  evidence.  Although  nearly  as  large  as  one  page  of  a 
penny  newspaper,  it  embraces  only  the  items  for  the  third 
class  of  interments,  that  most  commonly  in  vogue.  In  all, 
there  are  seven  classes,  the  last  and  most  expensive  of  which 
requires  an  outlay  of  not  less  than  ten  thousand  francs  for  the 
journey  from  the  church  to  the  cemetery. 

This  tariff  is  in  the  shape  of  a  printed  bill,  with  the  price 
affixed  to  each  article  or  person  required,  with  blank  spaces 
for  the  sums  total. 

The  department  of  religious  ceremonies  is  divided  into 
thirty-one  distinct  charges,  embracing  a  total  of  two  hundred 
and  eighty-one  francs  for  the  Church.  The  first  item  is  the 
"Droit  curial"  six  francs  ;  the  presence  of  the  cure  costs  twelve 


186          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

francs  ;  vicars,  three  francs,  and  priests,  two  francs  and  a  quar 
ter  each  ;  the  "  serpents,"  clerks,  chanters,  and  red-capped  boys 
are  cheaper.  Then  come  all  the  minor  employes  of  the 
Church — beadles,  Suisses,  carriers  of  the  cross,  &c. :  these  re 
ceive  a  franc  arid  a  half  each.  A  deacon  and  sub-deacon, 
twelve  francs  ;  a  grand  mass  is  cheap  at  three  francs,  but  the 
extras  swell  it  to  a  sum  total  in  which  the  original  charge  is 
quite  lost ;  a  gift  to  the  altar,  twelve  francs  ;  two  priests  to  go 
with  the  corpse  to  the  cemetery,  sixteen  francs ;  candles, 
ninety-six  francs  ;  ornaments,  censers,  etc.,  at  the  altar  and 
steps,  including  carpets  and  cross,  holy  water  and  candlesticks, 
forty-two  francs  ;  tolling  the  bells,  five  francs.  This  is  for  an 
ordinary  funeral.  It  will  be  seen  that  the  Church  thrives,  and 
drives  a  good  bargain  with  the  dead. 

Next  we  come  to  the  lion's  share,  or  the  company's.  This 
complete  amounts  to  one  thousand  two  hundred  and  thirty-four 
francs,  divided  as  follows  :  Expenses  to  the  dead-house,  one 
hundred  and  fifteen  francs  ;  to  the  Church,  seven  hundred  and 
fifteen  ;  for  the  cortege,  four  hundred  and  four.  Some  of  the 
items  of  these  charges  sound  singularly  enough  in  a  bill.  For 
instance,  the  black  cloth  over  the  entrance  to  the  house  pays 
ten  sous  the  yard  ;  thirty  mourning-chairs  pay  each  one  franc 
and  a  half;  a  black  foot-carpet,  ten  sous  the  yard;  eight 
men  in  mourning,  eight  francs  each  ,  twelve  torches,  three 
francs  each.  The  hearse,  with  the  mourning  for  the  horses, 
frmged  with  silver,  plumes,  etc.,  is  charged  at  one  hundred 
and  twenty  francs,  and  each  black  coach  fifteen  francs. 

There  are  twenty-nine  distinct  charges  at  the  dead-house, 
of  from  one  franc  to  fifty,  embracing  candles,  sepulchral  lamps, 
and  antique  drapery,  curtains,  fringes,  stand  for  the  holy  wa 
ter,  a  portable  altar,  a  cricket  to  kneel  upon  in  velvet  embroi 
dered  with  silver,  and  a  variety  of  other  articles  difficult  to 
translate  into  Protestant  English.  Among  the  Church  and 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          187 

cortege  charges  are  trophies  of  standards,  candelabras,  four  al 
legorical  statues  representing  Religion  and  the  theological  Vir 
tues — these  cost  two  hundred  francs  ;  cockades,  grand  liveries, 
a  war-horse,  equerries  for  war-horse,  dress  for  domestics,  a 
pair  of  weeping  women  in  fine  linen,  ditto  in  jine  crape,  ditto  in 
common,  escutcheons  and  ciphers  in  velvet  and  silver,  crowns 
and  bouquets  of  orange-flowers,  cloth  for  the  poor,  and  a  long 
list  of  other  articles  to  swell  the  expense  and  pageantry. 
These  last,  however,  are  supplementary,  and  at  the  option  of 
the  family. 

It  is  cheaper  to  live  than  to  die  in  Paris  ;  for,  however  dear 
may  be  the  living  to  their  friends,  the  dead  are  sure  to  be 
dearer,  for  a  short  period,  at  all  events.  For  a  stranger  in  a 
furnished  apartment,  the  affair  is  still  worse.  The  landlord 
claims  the  right  to  refurnish  and  refit  the  chamber  at  the  ex 
pense  of  the  deceased.  In  an  instance  that  came  to  my  knowl 
edge  of  an  American  gentleman  who  died,  leaving  two  young 
daughters,  as  it  were,  unprotected,  the  landlord  brought  in  an 
exorbitant  bill  for  new  furniture,  paper,  and  paint,  and  seized 
the  corpse  for  payment  as  it  was  leaving  the  house  for  the  cem 
etery.  It  is  well,  therefore,  in  a  lease,  to  have  the  expense  of 
dying  agreed  upon  ;  though,  if  it  were  not  for  the  natural 
sentiment  of  respect  to  the  dead,  it  would  be  a  just  retribution 
to  leave  in  the  hands  of  such  a  harpy  a  security  which  would 
not  improve  in  keeping. 

Paris  above  ground  is  an  ever-changing  panorama,  which 
any  one  can  view  by  paying  for  it ;  sometimes  the  coin  is 
simply  money,  or,  cheaper  and  better  yet,  a  little  enterprise  or 
exercise  ;  but  too  often  it  is  a  sight  draught  upon  either  health 
or  morals.  It  is  my  endeavor  to  show  it  as  it  is,  neither  bet 
ter  nor  worse,  that  those  who  visit  it  may  go  forewarned, 
while  those  who  see  it  only  through  my  telescope  shall  have 
cause  to  praise  the  clearness  of  its  glasses.  Few,  however, 


188 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


think  of  glancing  at  subterranean  Paris — that  mighty  labyrinth 
of  streets  beneath  ground,  seen  but  rarely  by  human  eyes,  but 
without  which  Paris  above  ground  would  be  an  unhabitable 
morass  or  a  generator  of  pestilence.  There  is  nothing  here 
for  show,  but  all  for  use.  Built  to  endure  for  ages,  and  to  sub 
serve  the  necessities  of  millions  of  human  beings,  performing 
in  the  material  economy  of  social  life  functions  as  important 
and  as  indispensable  as  the  veins  and  arteries  in  physical  life, 
they  are  worthy  of  a  glance,  at  all  events,  that  we  may  learn 
the  labor  and  expense  involved  in  lighting,  watering,  and 
cleaning  a  rnoucm  cj^ui/ul.  These  indispensable  offices  are 


ABOVE    AND    BELOW    GROUND. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


189 


all  moving  quietly  on  in  their  prescribed  paths,  unseen  and 
almost  unknown  by  the  millions  of  noisy  feet  above  them. 
Yet,  should  any  derangement  ensue,  the  health  and  comfort 
of  the  city  is  at  once  in  jeopardy.  Were  the  Tuileries  con 
sumed  by  fire,  and  the  Arch  of  Triumph  ingulfed  in  an  earth 
quake,  the  Parisians  would  simply  have  two  fine  monuments 
the  less.  But  were  the  drains,  water,  and  gas  of  Paris  to  be 
suddenly  arrested,  the  city  would  become  uninhabitable,  and 
the  ancient  marshes  of  Lutece  would  regain  their  lost  empire. 
It  was  not,  however,  until  the  commencement  of  the  last  cen 
tury  that  a  regular  system  of  drainage  was  established.  Jean 
Beausire  was  the  architect  first  charged  with  these  useful 
works.  The  system  has  been  continually  improved  upon,  un 
til  it  has  rendered  Paris  the  cleanest  and  best-lighted  capital 
in  the  world.  To  free  the  Seine,  within  the  city  limits,  from 
the  rivers  of  filth  that  are  being  continually  discharged  into 
its  stream,  it  is  proposed  to  construct  on  each  bank  two  mam 
moth  drains,  which  shall  receive  the  contents  of  all  the  minor 
ones,  and,  running  parallel  with  the  river,  discharge  their  con 
tents  into  it  below  the  city.  This 
would  involve  a  prodigious  out 
lay,  but  would  contribute  great 
ly  to  the  comfort  of  the  numer 
ous  bathing  and  washing  estab 
lishments,  and  possibly  might 
induce  some  Parisians  to  try  the 
virtues  of  river  water  occasion 
ally  as  a  beverage. 

Among  the  good  things  of  Par 
is,  there  is  none  which  appeals 
more  kindly  to  the  stranger  than 
the  regularity  and  dispatch  of 
the  postal  arrangements.  Sure* 


THE    POSTMAN. 


190 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


ly  no  one  will  grudge  the  trifling  gift  at  New  Year  expected 
by  the  postman,  who  so  faithfully  and  promptly  has  delivered 
your  letters  the  past  twelve  months,  seeking  you  out  perhaps 
in  the  remotest  quarter  of  the  city.  He  is  a  man  of  uniform, 
and  tinged  with  a  slight  air  of  importance  ;  always  on  the 
move,  and  always  with  a  smile  to  spare  if  he  be  able  to  re 
spond  to  your  eager  expectations. 

Another    convenience,   and    an    ornamental    one,   recently 
adopted,  are  the  pretty  cast-iron  boxes,  in  the  shape   of  col- 


\ 


LETTER-BOX 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


191 


umns,  placed  about  the  city  to  receive  the  contributions  for 
the  general  post-office.  Their  contents  are  emptied  several 
times  a  day  by  the  postal  agents.  But  where  the  French  post- 
office  is  unequaled,  perhaps,  by  any  other,  is  in  the  elegance 
and  convenience  of  its  ambulatory  arrangements.  The  mov 
ing  post-office  is  an  elegant  car  attached  to  the  express  trains, 
in  which  the  postal  service  goes  on  as  quietly  and  as  uninter 
ruptedly,  while  traveling  at  the  rate  of  forty  miles  an  hour,  as 
if  stationary  in  the  Rue  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau.  The  mails 
are  made  up,  letters  received,  weighed,  stamped,  and  dispatch 
ed  en  route.  The  two  following  cuts  best  illustrate  this  ad 
mirable  economy  of  time  and  distance. 


The  beautiful  and  the  disgusting,  the  natural  and  the  exag 
gerated,  the  true  and  the  false,  the  useful  and  the  showy,  are 
so  intermingled  in  Paris,  that  it  often  takes  but  a  step  to  pre 
cipitate  one  from  one  extreme  to  the  other.  Yet  it  is  this 
mixture,  in  which  every  art  or  passion  finds  an  appropriate 
place,  that  gives  this  capital  its  unrivaled  attractions.  Every 
taste  can  be  gratified,  and  every  humor  amused.  Lessons 


192          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


INTERIOR   OF   POST-CAR. 


of  wisdom  or  texts  for  many  a  useful  discourse  are  developed 
in  rapid  succession.  Neither  to  a  reflective  or  thoughtless 
mind  need  there  be  any  approach  to  ennui.  The  very  stones 
and  shop  windows  protest  against  it,  while  in  the  varying 
multitude  there  is  a  novelty  for  every  minute.  The  art  is  to 
catch  and  apply  the  wit  or  moral  as  it  floats  rapidly  past.  To 
classify  or  arrange  would  be  an  impossible  task,  or,  if  possible, 
it  would  make  the  picture  as  rigid  and  uninviting  as  one  of 
Cimabue's  Holy  Families.  Better  by  far  catch  the  manners  as 
they  rise,  for  one  day's  experience  is  no  sure  guide  for  its  suc 
cessor.  If  I  glance  hastily  from  one  topic  to  another,  blame 
not  me,  reader  mine,  but  the  variety  that  knows  no  end  in  the 
streets  of  Paris.  I  long  ago  thought  I  had  exhausted  the  hu 
morous  fancies  of  the  retail  wine-dealers  in  their  shops,  from 
broad  silver  counters,  to  be  measured  by  the  square  metre,  with 
walls  presenting  an  unbroken  line  of  mirrors,  and  ceilings 
sumptuous  in  gold  and  fresco,  down  to  the  meanest  of  the  red- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          193 


republican  dram-shops,  whose  customers  find  a  tonic  in  dirt 
and  tobacco-smoke  ;  but  one  morning  I  stumbled  upon  one, 
the  walls  of  which  were  lined  with  rows  of  various  sized 
kegs  and  casks,  the  heads  of  each  of  which  were  looking- 
glasses.  By  this  fancy  the  customer  was  sure  to  see  in  ad 
vance  the  image  of  himself  in  the  cask  which  perchance  was 
destined  to  ingulf  him,  soul  and  body.  One  of  the  strolling 
theatres  of  the  lowest  character,  on  a  fete  Sunday  at  St.  Cloud, 
had  for  a  sign  large  pictures  on  canvas,  representing  the  De 
scent  from  the  Cross  and  the  Raising  of  Christ.  What  ren 
dered  this  the  more  extraordinary  was  the  fact  that,  in  gen 
eral,  their  external  attractions  are  very  fair  representations  of 
the  species  of  exhibition  to  be  witnessed  within. 

Humbug  has  a  veritable  organization  at  Paris,  with  its  di 
rectors,  agents,  tariff  of  prices,  and  machinery  complete  to  ele 
vate  or  depress  an  artist,  author,  or  actor,  as  may  be  agreed 
upon  with  the  parties  interested.  It  even  pervades  the  shops, 
the  patronage  of  many  of  which  is  controlled  by  a  species  of 
advertising  claquery,  exceedingly  diverting  to  the  initiated,  but 
expensive  to  the  over-credulous.  It  is  somewhat  annoying, 
too,  after  having  been  plunged  into  ecstacies  by  the  perusal 
of  some  much-talked-of  and  greatly-lauded  literary  work, 
christened  with  some  famous  name,  to  have  a  less  verdant 
friend  tell  you  that  the  only  acquaintance  the  author  in  ques 
tion  has  with  it  is  the  title-page  and  perhaps  the  preface,  for 
affixing  his  name  to  which  he  pockets  the  price  named  in  the 
contract  as  the  equivalent  of  his  reputation  in  the  sale.  But 
the  greatest  imposition  upon  the  good-nature  of  the  public,  and 
upon  their  ears  also,  arises  from  the  organized  bands  of  cla 
queurs  which  invade  every  place  of  amusement,  and  levy  for 
midable  contributions  upon  directors,  actors,  and  authors  alike. 

After  one  has  been  led  by  the  contagious  force  of  example 
to  join  in  a  round  of  uproarious  applause,  with  which  some  fa- 

T 


194         PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


vorite  actor  or  piquant  speech  has  been  greeted,  and,  perhaps, 
been  simple  enough  to  add  a  bouquet  to  the  pile  cast  at  the 
feet  of  a  pretty  actress,  whose  emotions  of  gratitude,  too  pow 
erful  for  speech,  can  only  be  expressed  by  a  well-studied  pan- 

•  ;  tomime,  it  is  as  kill 
ing  to  sentiment  as 
frost  is  to  flowers 
to  hear  a  cynical 
Frenchman  by  your 
side,  with  a  latent 
smile  at  your  verd 
ancy  discernible  on 
his  otherwise  polite 
features,  coolly  re 
mark,  "  That  cost 
fifty  francs."  You 
turn  to  him  and  ask 
for  an  explanation. 
Monsieur  is  always 
pleased  to  enlight 
en  strangers,  even 
should  the  informa 
tion  convey  no  com 
pliment  to  his  own 
institutions.  In  the 
first  place,  he  tells 
you  never  to  take  a 
seat  in  the  centre  of  the  parquette,  just  under  the  chandelier. 
You  wonder  at  this,  as  it  is  really  the  best  place  in  the  house 
to  see  the  stage  and  audience,  but,  after  the  explanation,  you 
avoid  it  as  you  would  one  of  the  plagues  of  Egypt.  It  is  the 
locality  of  the  "  claqueurs."  Remark  that  group  immediately 
under  the  chandelier,  some  fifty  persons  :  they  are  called  "Lcs 


NIL    ADMIRARI. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


195 


LES   CLAQUEURS. 

chevaliers  du  lustre."  See  how  periodically  they  applaud- 
how  well  they  are  drilled  ;  a  hundred  hands  clapping  in  per 
fect  unison.  They  are  like  soldiers,  and  have  their  corporals 
and  captains,  whose  motions  they  follow  with  all  the  regu.lar- 
ity  that  a  flock  of  geese  follows  its  leader.  There  stands  the 
"  chef,"  the  Napoleon  of  claqueurs.  He  has  his  receptions,  his 
court,  and  is  a  sort  of  Fate  to  the  corps  dramatique,  who  must 
fee  him  well  if  they  would  not  be  forgotten  in  the  distribution 
of  applause  and  "  encores."  As  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose, 
when  a  French  audience  has  a  mercenary  band  to  execute 


196          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


gratis  for  them  all  the  clapping,  stamping,  and  shouting,  they 
do  not  trouble  themselves  much  with  such  fatiguing  ceremo 
nies.  If  they  are  so  far  carried  out  of  their  dignified  contempt 
for  the  claqueurs  as  to  join  in  applause,  it  must  be  by  some 
thing  decidedly  good  in  their  estimation. 

By  this  system  of  claquery — for  such  I  call  it,  for  want  of  a 
better  word — almost  every  piece,  however  indifferent,  is  sure 
to  have  a  career  of  fifteen  or  twenty  representations.  The 
chief  marshals  his  forces  to  "  chauffer''1 — warm  up — the  actors 
and  the  public.  The  degree  of  warmth  he  applies  depends, 
of  course,  upon  the  price  he  receives.  As  the  purse  descends 
on  one  side  of  the  scale,  the  applause  rises  in  another.  Bou 
quets,  jewelry,  and  involuntary  ecstasies,  judiciously  brought 
in  from  stage-boxes,  are  supplementary  ;  but  there  are  few,  if 
any,  actors  or  actresses  independent  of  this  species  of  clap 
trap.  The  newspaper  critics  are  as  little  to  be  depended  upon 
for  truth  as  the  stunning  homage  of  the  claqueurs.  I  have  not 
been  able  to  learn  where  and  how  this  system  originated.  At 
present  it  is  in  full  force,  and  the  only  hope  of  its  extinction  is 

in  its  increasing  abuse.  The 
"  chef  de  claque"  realizes  not 
only  power,  but  a  tolerable  for- 
ture,  in  a  few  years  from  this 
black-mail.  He  not  only  guar 
antees  the  success  or  damn 
ing  of  a  piece — for  which  also 
he  has  his  instruments — but 
he  contracts  with  directors 
for  the  night's  receipts,  pay 
ing  perhaps  fifteen  hundred 
francs,  and  receiving  two 
thousand,  if  he  be  successful 
in  his  manoeuvres.  Decided- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          197 

ly,  one  should  either  know  much  or  know  nothing  to  enjoy 
any  thing  at  Paris.  A  half-way  initiation,  alternating  be 
tween  faith  and  skepticism,  is  of  all  moods  the  most  miserable. 
The  doors  of  the  theatres  are  beset  by  another  species  of 
agents,  scarcely  less  annoying  in  their  degree.  If  you  arrive  a 
little  late,  you  are  assailed  by  venders  of  billets  at  less  than 
the  regular  rates.  They  arrest  your  progress  at  each  step,  arid 


THE   DOOR   OF   THE    THEATRE. 


with  an  eloquence  and  impudence  that  would  do  credit  to  a 
New  York  hackman,  endeavor  to  force  their  tickets  into  your 
hands.  Should  you  leave  the  house  before  the  entertainment 


198          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

is  over,  your  path  is  even  more  perilous.  "  AYill  Monsieur  sell 
his  check  ?"  is  shouted,  in  every  key,  by  a  dirty  gang,  from 
whose  clutches  one  gladly  escapes  by  throwing  at  them  the 
object  of  their  pursuit.  If,  however,  he  be  more  tenacious,  he 
can  realize  a  trifling  portion  of  the  original  price  of  his  billet 
— a  practice  quite  common  with  Frenchmen  who  do  not  stay 
out  the  afterpieces. 

The  pursuit  of  knowledge  under  difficulties  is  a  trite  adage  ; 
but  few  take  notice  of  the  difficulties  attending  some  kinds 
of  pleasure.  I  never  realized  this  more  forcibly  than  the  oth 
er  evening  at  the  Theatre  Francaise,  on  one  of  Rac.hel's  nights. 
Ascending  the  staircase,  I  noticed  a  crowd  of  ladies  and  gen 
tlemen,  attracted  by  some  manoBuvre  which  greatly  interested 
them.  Joining  the  group,  I  became  an  equally  interested 
spectator  at  once.  Before  them  was  a  lady,  richly  dressed,  of 
the  circumference,  moderately  speaking,  of  a  wine-pipe — in 
short,  square,  huge,  fleshy,  and  clumsy  ;  a  figure  much  as 
would  appear  two  of  R-ubens's  Flemish  divinities  if  run  into 
one  body.  There  was  a  step  of  about  six  inches'  elevation  for 
her  to  surmount  to  enter  her  box.  This  she  was  utterly  una 
ble  to  do,  unassisted.  The  door  was  little  less  than  a  pattern. 
However,  she  had  come  to  see  Rachel,  and  was  not  disposed 
to  give  it  up.  The  gentleman  attending  her,  not  particularly 
slight  himself,  backed  into  the  box,  and  took  hold  of  each  of 
her  hands.  A  stout  female  servant  placed  herself  on  all-fours 
underneath  the  most  accessible  part  of  the  stout  dame,  and 
gradually  lifted  her,  by  rising  on  her  hands  and  feet,  as  a  sort 
of  lever,  as  the  gentleman  pulled.  For  a  little  while  it  was 
uncertain  whether  the  lady  would  succeed  in  passing  through 
the  door,  or  fall  back  and  exterminate  the  panting  servant  be 
neath  her ;  but  her  flesh  being  pliant,  and  the  woman  strong, 
with  a  final  pull  and  bout  all  together,  she  at  last  passed  in. 
A  more  ridiculous  sight  no  comedy  could  have  afforded  ;  yet 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.  199 

French  politeness  was  proof  against  a  change  of  countenance 
during  the  operation  beyond  a  slight  expression  of  amaze 
ment  at  the  novelty  of  the  hoisting  arrangement.  An  English 
crowd  would  have  laughed  and  cheered. 

With  all  the  rage  for  amusements  that  pervades  the  French 
metropolis,  the  theatrical  enterprise  is  a  very  uncertain  one. 
Without  the  aid  of  government,  the  large  theatres  and  operas 
could  not  subsist  on  their  present  scale  of  magnificence.  Few 
of  the  minor  ones  pay.  The  most  successful  is  the  Funam- 
bulcs,  which  owes  its  popularity  to  the  prince  of  low  fun, 
Pierrot,  who  is  to  France  what  Pulcinello  is  to  Italy.  The 
Vaudeville,  which  cost  3,467,000  francs,  was  sold  in  1832  for 
1,100,000  francs  ;  yet  its  gains  the  past  winter  from  one  play, 
La  Dame  des  Cornelias,  alone  were  100,000  francs. 

M.  Barthelemy,  a  young  man  of  science  and  fortune,  has  con 
structed,  at  his  own  expense,  an  immense  theatre  on  an  alto 
gether  new  model.  His  object  is  to  moralize  the  masses  by 
combining  instruction  with  amusement,  particularly  in  bring 
ing  upon  the  stage  historical  pieces.  As  yet  his  success  is  un 
certain,  as  the  hall  has  been  used  only  for  concerts.  It  holds 
about  thirty-five  hundred  persons,  and  is  a  vast  semi-elliptic 
of  a  cupola,  with  three  rows  of  boxes,  and  galleries  of  a  novel 
and  daring  architecture.  It  is  so  constructed  for  music  that 
smaller  orchestras  and  less  powerful  singers  produce  better 
effects  than  those  of  other  theatres,  the  sounds  not  being  lost 
in  the  hot  air  above,  as  elsewhere.  The  orchestra  is  placed 
above  the  stage,  so  that  the  attention  of  the  public  is  not  dis 
tracted  from  the  stage  by  the  movements  of  the  musicians  and 
their  huge  instruments.  There  are  no  foot-lights,  but  the  hall 
is  brilliantly  illuminated  by  an  ingenious  light  made  to  imitate 
the  rays  of  the  sun,  and  so  suspended  that  it  does  not  incon 
venience  the  eyes  of  the  spectators.  The  aim  of  M.  Barthele 
my  in  reforming  the  stage,  both  in  a  moral  and  architectural 


200          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


view,  deserves  the  countenance  of  the  government.  Better 
still  were  they  to  close  to  the  public  their  school  of  deprava 
tion  of  manners,  and  petrifying  of  the  kindly  sympathies  of 
the  heart.  The  daily  exhibition  at  the  Morgue  of  the  naked 
corpses  of  the  criminal  dead,  or  victims  of  despair,  attracts  a 
constantly  changing  crowd  of  young  and  old  of  both  sexes,  who, 
with  cold  curiosity,  examine  the  lifeless  bodies,  exciting  in  each 
other  laughter  by  emulous  jokes,  and  even  obscene  remarks. 
Perhaps  a  mother,  with  grief  too  deep  for  utterance,  recog- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          201 

nizes  on  the  cold  marble  the  graceful  form  of  a  daughter,  who, 
with  a  smile  of  temporary  farewell  on  her  lips,  left  her  but  a 
few  hours  before.  A  mortal  accident  has  overtaken  her,  and 
she  now  lies  there  dead,  and  stripped  to  the  very  verge  of  in 
decency.  The  spectators  acknowledge  no  relationship  with 
either  the  mourned  or  the  mourner.  "  Ah !  how  unfortunate 
so  handsome  a  girl  should  drown  herself!"  exclaims  one. 
"  What  a  beautiful  carcass  she  makes !"  says  another,  still  more 
rudely.  The  children  press  between  the  adults  to  see  the 
sight,  listen  to  the  comments  of  their  elders,  and  then  retire, 
having  taken  their  first  lesson  in  the  school  of  inhumanity. 

Unfortunately,  human  nature  is  more  susceptible  to  evil 
than  to  good  impressions,  otherwise  the  pernicious  influences 
of  the  Morgue  might  be  more  than  counteracted  by  the  daily 
exhibition  of  a  charity  whose  zeal  and  purity  admit  of  no 
earthly  alloy.  None  can  question  the  claim  of  the  Sisters  of 
Charity  to  these  qualities,  when  it  is  remembered  that  theirs 
alone,  of  all  the  institutions  of  the  Catholic  Church,  went 
through  the  Revolution  of  1789,  not  only  unmolested,  but  sus 
tained  and  respected.  In  every  age  since  their  institution,  and 
among  all  nations  that  they  have  visited,  they  have  proved 
themselves  angels  of  mercy.  They  have  nursed  the  sick,  com 
forted  the  afflicted,  dispensed  to  the  needy  of  every  rank  or  na 
tion,  not  only  the  gifts  of  charity,  but  performed  by  the  bedside 
of  loathsome  pestilence  or  repulsive  poverty  those  last  offices 
from  which  relationship  fled  appalled,  and  which  none  but 
woman,  who  borrows  her  inspiration  from  those  of  her  sex 
who  were  last  at  the  cross  and  first  at  the  grave  can  perform. 
As  they  were  generations  since,  so  are  they  now,  the  same  de 
voted  soldiers  of  humanity,  whether  amid  Canadian  snows 
or  tropical  heats ;  constant  at  the  bedside  of  disease  and 
death,  carrying  help  and  hope  across  the  threshold  of  pov 
erty,  comforting  and  taming  maniac  violence  or  criminal  de- 

T2 


202          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


SISTER    OF    CHARITY. 


sire  by  that  principle  whose  soft  answers  and  heavenly  deeds 
turn  away  wrath,  and  bring  alike  all  human  passion  submissive 
and  hopeful  at  the  feet  of  a  Savior.  French  wit,  philosophy, 
skepticism,  and  revolutions  have  equally  respected  the  Sisters 
of  Charity.  Infidels  and  atheists,  Republicans  and  Imperial 
ists,  enemies  and  friends  of  Rome,  have  each,  in  turn,  acknowl 
edged  their  services  to  humanity,  as  they,  in  turn,  have  been 
ministered  to  by  them.  Their  rule  is  that  of  universal  broth- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          203 

erhood,  their  sacrifice  the  entire  renunciation  of  the  world,  and 
their  faith  is  that  active  charity  which  is  the  bond  of  peace 
and  good-will  among  men.  True  it  is  that  among  Protestants 
there  are  many  sisters  whose  charity  and  faith  equal  theirs,  and 
whose  good  works,  done  in  secret,  are  not  known  from  the 
right  hand  to  the  left.  Theirs  is  the  unorganized  charity  of  the 
heart — the  spontaneous  offering  of  individual  piety.  But  while 
distinctions  and  organizations  exist  among  mankind,  the  hum 
ble  garb  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity,  as  they  pass  silently  and 
quietly  through  the  streets  of  Paris  on  their  errands  of  mercy, 
will  serve  to  remind  both  the  Protestant  and  Catholic  that  the 
religion  that  visits  and  comforts  the  widow  and  fatherless  still 
exists  in  the  world.  It  would  be  well  for  their  souls  were 
they  to  go  and  do  likewise. 

Let  not  Protestants  suppose  that  the  old,  disappointed,  or  af 
flicted — those  only  to  whom  the  world  offers  but  little — are  to 
be  found  in  their  ranks.  On  the  contrary,  the  young,  comely, 
and  accomplished  have  their  representatives.  Theirs  is  not 
either  an  oath  of  seclusion  or  of  perpetuity.  On  the  contrary, 
they  see  daily  the  outer  world  in  all  its  brightness  and  attrac 
tions.  They  mingle  in  its  throngs,  and  they  pass  from  their 
plain  cells  or  the  bedsides  of  squalor  and  disease  to  the  homes 
of  affluence.  The  contrast  between  a  life  of  worldly  enjoy 
ment  and  self-renunciation  is  constantly  before  them.  More 
over,  they  are  free  at  any  time  to  leave  the  sisterhood  and  join 
again  the  circles  they  have  forsaken.  Under  these  circum 
stances,  can  there  exist  a  doubt  of  their  sincerity  and  purity  ? 
Parisian  levity,  which  spares  nothing  else,  sacred  or  profane, 
spares  them.  They  never  have  to  blush  at  false  charges  and 
insinuated  scandal.  The  Popes  have  endeavored  to  introduce 
them  into  Italy,  there  being  no  counterpart  among  the  Italian 
orders  to  theirs.  As  yet,  Italian  women  have  failed  to  imitate 
their  purity  and  devotion.  A  few  French  sisters  have  been 


204          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


induced  to  establish  themselves  at  Naples,  where  their  good 
works  are  no  less  acknowledged  and  appreciated  than  at  Paris. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  impression  made  upon  ine  in  convers 
ing  with  a  still  young  and  fair  sister  in  the  sacristy  of  the 
chapel  to  the  Hospital  of  the  Insane  at  Avignon.  She  had 
taken  us  there  to  show  us  a  wonderful  object  of  art,  in  the 
form  of  a  dead  Christ  upon  the  cross,  cut  out  of  a  single  piece 
of  ivory,  exhibiting  on  one  side  of  the  face  an  expression  of 
agony,  and  on  the  other  calm  resignation.  She  spoke  of  her 
own  situation  with  an  accent  of  sorrowful  satisfaction — sorrow 
that  there  was  so  much  wretchedness,  and  satisfaction  that 
she  could  labor  for  its  consolation.  She  was  free  to  go  back 
to  her  friends,  yet  she  preferred  to  live  there,  as  she  had  al 
ready  for  thirteen  years,  performing  the  most  menial  offices 
for  the  insane.  "  The  work  is  hard  and  constant,"  said  she, 
"because  there  are  but  few  of  us  to  perform  it  for  more  than 
one  hundred  patients,  yet  we  shall  continue  to  do  it  while  we 
live."  As  we  dropped  some  pieces  of  money  into  the  cup 
placed  to  receive  them,  she  quietly  remarked,  "  You  know  this 
is  not  for  us,  but  for  the  poor  insane  whom  we  nurse  ;  it  all 
goes  to  them."  There  was  an  air  of  calm  piety  and  unobtru 
sive  meekness,  combined  with  grace  and  intelligence,  about 
her,  that  made  me  feel  that  such  a  nurse  at  a  sick  bedside 
would  prove  at  once  a  physician  for  the  body  and  a  mission 
ary  to  the  soul.  In  requesting  a  glass  of  water,  her  hospital 
ity  insisted  upon  our  making  use  of  the  communion  wine, 
apologizing  for  its  not  being  of  better  quality.  I  took  leave 
of  her  with  increased  respect  for  the  order  to  which  she  be 
longed,  and  regret  that  the  Church  of  Rome  was  not  as  purely 
represented  in  all  its  institutions  and  ministers  ;  not  without, 
I  may  as  well  confess  it,  a  twinge  of  compunction  at  the  un- 
fruitfulness  of  my  own  life  in  good  works  and  self-renuncia 
tion  as  compared  with  hers. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


205 


To  write  of  the  condition  of  a  people,  and  omit  to  give  their 
numbers,  wealth,  poverty,  and  the  figures  that  show  plainer 
than  the  most  lively  description  their  virtues  and  their  vices, 
would  be  like  painting  a  landscape  without  a  ground-work, 
or  trying  to  set  up  a  human  figure  without  the  frame -work  of 
bones.  America  has  had  the  equivocal  compliment  to  lend 
her  name  in  Europe  to  more  than  one  species  of  dissipation 
or  crime,  indicating  thus  the  source  from  which  it  has  been 
borrowed.  Any  species  of  robbery  requiring  peculiar  finesse 
is  called  "un  vol  a  I" Americaine  •"  and  there  is  a  gambling 
game — shades  of  our  Pilgrim  fathers,  close  your  ears  ! — known 
in  Europe  simply  as  "  Boston."  It  is  to  be  devoutly  hoped 
that  no  such  accomplishment  derived  its  origin  from  that  city 
of  "  steady  habits." 
The  most  quiet  and 
unsuspicious  of  rob 
beries  is  that  per 
formed  by  means  of 
false  hands,  the  op 
eration  of  which  the 
adjoining  cut  shows 
better  than  can  be 
described  in  words. 
The  English  have 
the  reputation  of  be 
ing  the  most  adroit 
in  this  species  of 
theft,  for  the  exer 
cise  of  which  omni 
buses  afford  a  very 
convenient  field. 

The    refuse  popu- 
lation  of  Paris,  either  PICKPOCKET. 


206 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


too  poor  to  be  reputed  honest,  or  too  criminal  to  have  any  pre 
tensions  to  such  a  reputation,  is  estimated  by  M.  FreVier  at 
63,000 ;  but  it  is  unnecessary  to  suppose  that  all  these  are 
actively  engaged  in  evil  doing.  The  average  number  of  the 
imprisoned  for  all  causes  in  France  at  one  time  is  about  50,000, 
and  during  the  year,  200,000.  The  expense  of  their  detention 
is  20,000,000  francs,  a  legal  tax  which  crime  levies  annually 
upon  society,  independent  oflhe  indirect  contributions,  in  the 
shape  of  thefts  and  robberies,  the  amount  of  which  there  is  no 
means  of  estimating.  Great  as  this  may  be,  it  falls  far  short 
of  the  contributions  exacted  by  mendicity  and  poverty.  The 
French  are  not,  as  the  Italians,  a  race  of  beggars.  TV'ith  the 
latter  it  is  a  profession,  but  with  the  former  simply  a  necessity. 
There  is  too  much  fiery  self-respect  and  genuine  politeness  in 
Gallic  nature  to  produce  a  race  of  mendicants.  Besides,  the 
government  discountenances  it  by  severe  measures  so  effect- 


THE   POLICE   AND   MENDICANTS. 


ually  that  a  stranger  who  glances  superficially  at  Paris  may 
doubt,  as  did  Sir  Francis  Head,  if  there  are  any  wretchedly  poor. 
They  are  effectually  concealed  in  stone  mansions  and  narrow 
streets,  the  external  appearance  of  which,  however  much  it  may 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          207 


contrast  with  the  brilliant  Boulevards,  but  indifferently  gauges 
the  depths  of  misery  within  them.  Besides,  the  mendicity, 
which  is  able  occasionally,  in  despite  of  the  police,  to  show  its 
head  in  some  of  its  Protean  shapes,  is  of  that  reckless,  swin 
dling  character,  which  either  amuses  by  its  cunning  or  chills  by 
its  impudence.  In  1656,  so  great  was  this  evil,  that  it  was 
forbidden,  under  the  penalty  of  a  heavy  fine,  to  give  to  beg 
gars  in  the  street  under  any  pretext  whatsoever,  or  to  receive 
them  into  lodging-houses.  The  official  number  of  "  mendi 
cants"  in  France  is  4,000,000,  or  one  in  nine  of  the  entire  pop 
ulation.  As  many  more  are  supposed  to  require  more  or  less 
assistance  from  charity  each  year.  If  the  destitution  of  France 
among  its  poorer  classes  assumes  a  magnitude  that  to  the  citi 
zens  of  the  United  States  would  seem  of  gigantic  proportions, 
public  and  private  charity  swells  in  a  corresponding  ratio. 
There  is  nothing  in  which  France  appears  to  better  advantage 
than  the  scale  on  which  she  organizes  her  benevolence.  It 
bespeaks  a  sensitiveness  to  the  sufferings  of  humanity  which 
does  her  high  honor,  and  shows  that  in  the  Christian  rule  of 
good  works  she  has  made  rapid  progress,  whatever  she  may 
lack  in  sound  faith.  The  gifts  and  legacies  to  the  hospitals 
and  benevolent  institutions  from  1800  to  1846  have  amounted 
to  upward  of  122,000,000  francs,  increasing  largely  in  the  later 
years.  This  is  exclusive  of  other  charities,  which  are  esti 
mated  at  as  much  more,  making  a  total  of  45,000,000  of  dol 
lars.  The  official  budget  of  charity  for  1844  appropriates 
25,000,000  of  dollars  for  this  object ;  but  this  includes  the  reg 
ular  revenues  of  the  hospitals,  which  amount  to  nearly  two 
thirds  of  that  sum.  The  property  belonging  to  the  1388  hos 
pitals  of  France  is  valued  at  100,000,000  of  dollars,  producing 
a  net  income  of  about  2,500,000  dollars,  and  the  number  of 
sick  received  annually  not  far  from  500,000.  The  inhabitants 
of  the  large  towns  absorb  nearly  all  the  revenues  of  the  hos- 


208         PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


pitals,  the  thirty  millions  of  the  peasantry  being  left  almost 
destitute.  The  hospitals  in  the  cities  are  so  liberally  provided 
for  that  it  has  been  seriously  questioned  whether  they  did  not 
augment  public  distress  by  diminishing  private  responsibility. 
M.  Moreau  Christophe,  after  stating  the  enormous  amount 
which  it  annually  costs  to  support  beggary,  makes  the  very 
significant  inquiry  whether  a  less  sum,  wisely  expended,  would 
not  suffice  to  extinguish  it  entirely. 

These  expenditures,  heavy  as  they  are  and  must  be,  when 
we  are  informed  that,  in  1836,  of  the  deaths  in  Paris,  more  than 
two  fifths  took  place  in  the  hospitals,  give  but  a  faint  idea  of 
the  extent  of  the  benevolence  of  the  French  nation.  There 
are  in  Paris  alone  more  than  one  hundred  and  eighty  private 
charitable  societies  and  institutions.  But,  in  spite  of  all  this 
array  of  charity,  there  is  a  fearful  amount  of  suffering  and  des 
titution  in  Paris.  The  public  statistics  show  that  the  number 
who  die  annually  from  sheer  starvation  is  by  no  means  too  in 
considerable  to  be  overlooked  in  the  bills  of  mortality. 

"While  speaking  of  the  charitable  institutions  of  France,  we 
must  not  omit  to  mention  one,  the  utility  of  which  is  more  than 
questionable,  although  there  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  benev 
olent  motives  in  which  it  had  its  origin.  We  refer  to  the 
Foundling  Hospital.  Any  parent  to  whom  the  birth  of  a  child 
is  a  shame,  or  its  maintenance  an  inconvenience,  has  but  to  re 
pair  to  the  gate  of  the  hospital,  deposit  the  infant  in  a  "  tour" 
or  box  turning  upon  a  pivot,  ring  a  bell  which  summons  a 
porter,  and  the  care  for  the  life  of  the  young  being,  which  na 
ture  has  so  strictly  devolved  upon  those  who  gave  it  birth,  is 
at  once  and  forever  thrown  upon  strangers.  The  strongest  ar 
gument  urged  in  favor  of  this  institution  is,  that  the  lives  of 
many  children  are  preserved  who  would  otherwise  have  been 
murdered  before  or  directly  after  birth.  But  when  we  take 
into  account  the  fearful  mortality  of  the  infants  thus  given  into 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          209 

the  charge  of  hired  nurses,  there  is  good  reason  to  apprehend 
that  the  institution  occasions  a  greater  loss  of  life  than  it  saves. 
I  have  not  at  hand  the  hospital  statistics  of  the  last  few  years  ; 
but,  according  to  those  of  the  latest  year  within  our  present 
reach,  out  of  28,942  births,  4792  were  abandoned  by  their 
parents  and  sent  to  the  hospital.  Any  institution  which  ena 
bles  and  induces  the  parents  of  one  sixth  of  the  children  born 
in  the  capital  of  a  Christian  country,  with  perfect  impunity  and 
without  fear  of  detection,  to  abandon  their  offspring  almost  im 
mediately  after  birth,  must  be  productive  of  far  more  evil  than 
it  prevents.  The  great  law  of  nature,  that  the  mother  shall 
have  charge  of  her  infant,  can  not  thus  be  set  aside  with  im 
punity  ;  nor,  I  apprehend,  is  the  facility  with  which  infants 
may  thus  be  disposed  of  without  a  very  important  bearing  upon 
the  vast  proportion  which  the  illegitimate  births  in  Paris  bear 
to  the  legitimate.  In  the  same  year  of  which  we  have  spoken 
above,  one  third  of  the  births  were  of  the  former  character. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    GENERATIONS    OF    FASHION. 

IF  there  be  one  earthly  object  more  deserving  of  pity  than 
another,  what  do  you  think  it  is,  curious  reader?  As  a  Yan 
kee,  with  all  your  inherited  cuteness,  you  will  never  guess. 
I  leave  that  to  a  Frenchman  ;  and,  not  to  keep  you  longer  in 
suspense — the  worst  possible  policy  for  an  author — I  will  tell 
you.  It  is  an  "  old  fashion"  How  many  delicately-chiseled 
noses  are  turned  up  at  that  irrevocable  sentence  of  condemna 
tion,  while  disgust  at  the  sight,  and  amazement  at  the  audaci 
ty  of  the  shop-keeper,  play  about  the  lines  of  the  fairest 
mouths  as  their  lovely  possessors  turn  their  backs  peremp 
torily  upon  an  article  which  but  a  month  before  was  the  cov 
eted  object  of  all  eyes — "  a  perfect  beauty" — "  a  sweet  love" — 
with  an  exclamatory  "  Pooh  !  it  is  old-fashioned."  To  use  an 
expressive,  though  vulgar  phrase,  that  is  a  "  clincher."  The 
fate  of  an  old  pot  is  not  more  hopeless.  When  once  that 
Mede  and  Persian  fiat  has  gone  forth  from  feminine  lips,  ev 
ery  body  is  at  liberty  to  give  it  another  crack.  A  shop-keeper 
might  as  profitably  employ  his  time  in  searching  for  the  phi 
losopher's  stone,  as  his  eloquence  in  endeavoring  to  sell  any 
thing  once  put  under  the  ban  of  fashion.  The  interdict  of 
beauty  is  upon  it.  Accursed  of  good  taste  has  it  become,  and 
excommunicated  from  the  depths  of  every  well-filled  purse. 
No  matter  how  becoming  it  has  been  considered  a  few  short 
weeks  before,  whatever  may  be  its  intrinsic  merits  of  elegance, 
art,  or  costliness ;  however  much  human  brains  and  hands 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          211 


have  labored  to  make  it  a  combination  of  utility  and  beauty, 
it  is  now  a  sunken,  degraded  thing,  despised  of  women  and 
scorned  of  men,  barely  tolerated  by  the  necessities  of  poverty, 
or  reduced  to  seek  a  home  in  the  haunts  of  vice. 

This  caprice,  which  looks  only  to  change  for  its  aliment,  is 
as  old  as  human  invention.  I  make  no  doubt  that  Eve  never 
wore  twice  the  same  pattern  of  fig-leaves,  while  Adam  search 
ed  diligently  the  forests  through  to  diversify  the  colors  of  his 
vegetable  breeches.  The  Polynesian  turns  to  nature  for  his 
book  of  fashions,  and  seeks  to  rival  the  hues  of  the  bird  of 
Paradise  in  the  ample  folds  of  his  brilliant-colored  "tappas." 
Every  savage  finds  his  greatest  wants  in  the  bright  gewgaws 
of  civilization.  If  there  be  a  nation  on  earth  that  clings  to  its 
old  clothes  and  furniture  because  they  are  good  and  useful ; 
that  deprecates  change  as  innovation  upon  good 'habits  and 
customs  ;  that  does  not  dive  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  fish 
the  seas,  and  penetrate  the  heavens,  racking  nature  to  find 
material  wherewith  to  distort  and  crucify  nature  in  form, 
stuff",  and  pattern,  out  of  sheer  disgust  of  the  old  and  capri 
cious  love  for  the  new,  I  have  yet  to  discover  it. 

A  passion  so  universal  must  be  productive  of  more  good 
than  evil,  or  else  it  would  die  of  neglect.  At  first  glance, 
nothing  appears  more  unreasonable,  and  more  destructive  of 
excellence,  than  this  devotion  to  variety.  The  "  love"  of  one 
season  is  the  "  fright"  of  the  next.  No  sooner  have  we  rec 
onciled  our  eyes  and  shoulders  to  one  fit,  and  begun  to  think 
it  tolerable,  than  we  abandon  it  for  some  fresh  abomination 
of  the  tailor  or  modiste,  and  recommence  our  penance  of  new- 
formed  inexpressibles  and  new-cut  whalebone.  Every  change 
of  coat  or  boot  is  another  martyrdom.  The  rack  has  indeed 
left  the  halls  of  justice,  but  it  has  taken  up  its  residence  on 
the  counters  of  St.  Crispin  and  kindred  saints.  Human  flesh 
has  become  a  mere  machine — a  sort  of  clay  model — for  the 


V 


214          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

masters  and  mistresses  of  the  shears  and  needles  to  fit  their 
garments  upon.  Bone  and  muscle  are  secondary  in  their  sys 
tem  ;  the  primary  object  is  to  display  their  "  fashions,"  which, 
as  they  are  mainly,  of  late,  of  the  grotesque  order,  we  may 
class,  according  to  the  views  of  Ruskin's  architecture,  rather 
as  the  labor  of  little  minds  than  the  repose  of  great. 

So  in  other  things.  We  no  sooner  combine  utility  and 
beauty,  forming  an  article  which  is  truly  excellent  in  itself, 
than  we  abandon  it,  and  content  ourselves  with  some  crude 
novelty,  to  be  discarded,  in  its  turn,  as  soon  as  it  has  advanced 
through  its  several  degrees  of  fashion  to  any  thing  like  com 
fortable  excellence.  An  individual  who  ventures  to  like  what 
suits  him  well,  in  opposition  to  the  novel  and  fashionable,  be 
comes  a  pariah  at  once.  He  is  abandoned  of  society — lucky 
if  known  as  nothing  worse  than  an  "  odd,  old-fashioned  fel 
low,"  and  of  no  more  account  in  creation  than  a  dead  leaf.  In 
usual  they  are  doomed  to  equal  consideration  with  an  old  hat, 
substituting  a  stale  joke  for  the  decided  kick,  either  of  which 
is  an  effectual  barrier  to  the  firmament  of  fashion. 

If  this  love  of  variety  had  no  other  recommendation  than  to 
prevent  repletion  in  the  purses  of  the  rich,  it  would  still  be  a 
social  blessing.  It  feeds,  clothes,  and  houses  half  the  world. 
It  feels  the  way  to  artistic  perfection,  opens  the  doors  to  in 
genuity,  favors  invention,  and  prevents  mental  stagnation. 
Costly  and  annoying  to  the  individual  it  may  be,  but  to  the 
nation  it  is  beneficial.  The  very  whims  of  beauty  are  so 
much  bounty  to  industry  and  art.  Mere  dandyism  is  the  rust 
of  civilization.  Like  corroded  steel,  it  shows  the  most  where 
the  polish  is  most  brilliant. 

Paris  is  the  central  star  of  fashion.  Whatever  is  seen  else 
where  is  a  ray  from  her  light,  diminishing  in  lustre  as  it  re 
cedes  from  that  city.  The  French,  under  Napoleon,  by  force 
of  arms  sought  to  win  a  universal  empire.  Failing  in  this, 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          215 

they  have  since  employed  the  more  subtle  weapons  of  taste 
and  fashion  to  attain  the  same  end.  Their  conquests  extend 
with  a  rapidity  that  far  surpasses  the  warlike  exploits  of  the 
"Grand  Empereur."  There  is  not  a  race  on  the  globe  that 
does  not  seem  destined  to  lose  its  national  costumes  and  hab 
its  before  the  invincible  power  of  French  fashions.  They 
have  penetrated  the  huts  of  the  South  Sea  savages.  They 
march  with  the  rapidity  of  commerce  along  the  steppes  of 
Central  Asia,  and  have  climbed  the  Chinese  wall.  The  tur 
ban  of  the  descendants  of  the  Prophet  rolls  in  the  dust  before 
the  hat  of  the  infidel.  This  infiltration  of  Parisian  fashions 
is  seen  every  where  ;  sometimes  with  an  elegance  that  rivals 
Paris  itself,  but  more  often  with  an  awkward  imitation  de 
structive  of  every  grace  of  the  original.  It  threatens  to  sub 
jugate  every  European  costume,  however  venerable  from  an 
tiquity  or  picturesque  in  effect.  The  traveler  must  hasten  if 
he  would  see  what  remains  of  the  beautiful  or  odd  in  the 
dresses  of  the  Italian,  the  national  costumes  of  the  Swiss,  the 
furred  robes  of  the  Pole,  and  the  medley  mediaeval  civilization 
of  the  Asiatic  and  European  tribes  that  now  are  ruled  by  the 
Autocrat  of  all  the  Russias.  The  conquests  of  the  modistes 
are  wider  than  those  of  the  marshals. 

A  French  army  of  "  artistes"  have  insinuated  themselves, 
as  worms  into  old  books  and  furniture,  into  every  cranny  of 
past  civilization.  They  are  rapidly  undermining  every  habit, 
both  of  the  body  and  for  the  body,  of  the  past.  At  present 
the  adulterine  mixture  is  becoming  to  neither  condition  ;  but 
before  the  army  of  French  cooks,  dancing-masters,  tailors, 
modistes,  coiffeurs,  valets,  femmes-de-chambre,  and  mechan 
ics  of  knick-knackery,  every  other  knick-knackery  and  fash 
ion,  not  absolutely  Parisian  in  its  origin  and  education,  is 
rapidly  giving  way.  Whether  this  is  an  incipient  stage  of 
the  Millennium  or  not,  when  mankind  are  to  be  all  brethren. 


216          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


alike  in  speech,  habits,  and  rule,  remains  to  be  seen.  This 
much  we  know,  that  French  millinery  is  the  dominant  power 
of  civilization.  England's  dueen  and  Russia's  Czar  alike  ac 
knowledge  its  supremacy.  Parisian  fashion,  which,  like  oth 
ers,  once  had  a  local  character  of  its  own,  has  now  become  a 
cosmopolite,  making  itself  equally  at  home  in  Timbuctoo  as  in 
the  Champs  Elysees. 

"Whether  the  world  will  gain  in  picturesque  effect  by  the 
obliteration  of  national  costumes  may  well  be  doubted  ;  but 
whether  French  taste  has  not  a  wide  gulf  yet  to  pass  before 
it  can  make  any  thing  graceful  and  comfortable  of  the  stove 
pipe  hat,  dismal  colors,  and  swaddling  clothes  to  which  it 
dooms  its  male  devotees,  is  no  matter  of  doubt  at  all.  It  is  in 
the  infancy  of  its  empire,  and  has  yet  much  to  learn  before 
mankind  will  acknowledge  its  sway  an  easy  one.  The  most 
that  can  now  be  said  in  its  favor  is  that,  in  its  restlessness,  it 
may  by  chance  hit  upon  some  combination  which  shall  recon 
cile  comfort  and  beauty.  But  we  very  much  fear,  if  it  suc 
ceeded  in  this,  that  it  would  not  allow  it  to  live  a  month. 

One  secret  of  Parisian  success  in  the  empire  of  fashion  is 
this.  In  the  past  it  cunningly  borrowed  of  all  nations  every 
peculiarity  that  could  be  turned  to  account  in  its  own  rage  for 
novelty.  The  Romans  admitted  the  deities  of  conquered  na 
tions  into  their  mythology  without  scrutiny.  Their  great  scheme 
of  government  comprehended  every  worship,  provided  it  was 
not  purer  than  their  own.  Parisians  borrowed  every  hue  and 
cut  from  rival  costumes,  and  transformed  them  to  their  own 
tastes  and  purposes.  Receiving  every  thing  in  the  beginning, 
they  have  ended  by  giving  every  thing  ;  and  the  whole  world 
now  looks  to  Paris  as  the  arbitress  of  fashion,  as  the  Jew  does 
to  Jerusalem,  and  the  Romanist  to  Rome,  for  the  seat  of  their 
religions. 

With  all  this,  however,  the  French  once  had  fashions  pe- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          217 


culiarly  their  own.  Indeed,  their  empire  is  of  very  recent 
date,  and  it  is  well  worth  our  trouble  to  go  back  a  little,  and 
see  by  what  strange  metamorphoses  French  taste  has  as 
sumed  its  present  shape.  To  do  this,  I  shall  be  compelled  to 
illustrate  freely,  for  two  reasons.  I  detest  the  technicalities 
of  dress,  and  if  I  employed  the  terms  in  description,  I  could 
neither  understand  the  costumes  myself  or  make  them  intel 
ligible  to  my  readers ; 
therefore  I  shall  adopt 
the  better  method  of 
letting  them  see  for 
themselves. 

After  gunpowder 
had  put  an  end  to 
metallic  armor,  the 
French  nobles,  by  the 
usual  force  of  contra 
diction,  ran  into  the 
opposite  extreme,  and 
from  iron  by  the  pound 


on  their  necks,  began 
to  wear  costly  lace 
and  ribbons  by  the 
yard.  This  in  time 
subsided  into  the  most 
elegant  of  court-dress 
es,  though  too  effem 
inate  in  its  charac 
ter  for  any  but  aris 
tocratic  idlers.  Such 
was  the  costume  of 
the  perfumed  gallants 
who  crowded  the  an- 


COURT    DRESS,    1775. 


K 


218          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

te-chambers  of  Pompadour  and  Du  Barri.  Intrigue  was  the 
business  of  their  lives  ;  they  looked,  acted,  studied,  and,  above 
all,  dressed  with  the  paramount  view  of  captivating  the  fairer 
sex.  Dressing,  therefore,  was  a  laborious  and  protracted  op 
eration,  which  demanded  all  the  powers  of  the  mind.  It  was 
well  if  the  gallant  who  commenced  it  as  soon  as  he  rose  from 
his  couch  at  noon,  finished  his  labor  of  love  by  three  o'clock. 
The  hands,  withdrawn  from  the  night-gloves,  must  be  soaked 
for  a  long  time  in  lotions  and  washes,  to  remove  any  discolor 
ation  or  roughness  ;  the  cheeks  were  to  be  tinted  with  car 
minatives  to  give  a  bloom  to  the  complexion,  pallid  from  last 
night's  debauch  ;  every  envious  pimple  must  be  hidden  by  a 
patch  ;  the  clothes  must  be  perfumed,  the  linen  powdered  to 
overcome  the  smell  of  soap.  The  proper  tying  of  the  cravat 
was  the  great  labor  of  the  day  ;  this  performed,  the  wig  and 
hat  properly  adjusted,  the  most  captivating  attitudes  and 
graces  carefully  studied  before  the  mirror,  and  the  French  no 
ble  of  a  few  years  before  the  Revolution  was  prepared  for  the 
conquests  of  the  day.  But,  before  this  elaborate  costume  was 
finally  swept  away  by  the  Revolution,  there  was  a  brief  epi 
sode  of  simplicity.  Franklin  made  his  appearance  at  court  in 
a  suit  of  sober  brown.  All  heads  were  turned.  Lace,  and 
embroidery,  and  powdered  curls  were  discarded.  Straight 
brown  coats  and  straight  cut  hair  became  the  mode  of  the 
moment. 

The  habit  succeeding  this  was  based  upon  the  old  English 
frock-coat,  with  its  ample  and  awkward  folds,  which,  by  some 
unaccountable  freak,  became  all  at  once  the  rage  at  Paris. 
The  Duke  de  Lauroquais  used  to  say  that  the  English  frock- 
coat  gave  a  mortal  wound  to  the  costume  of  the  French  no 
blesse,  which  speedily  degenerated,  with  its  brocade  and  gay 
colors,  into  a  disguise  for  the  Carnival  or  a  dress  for  a  mas- 
rjuerade  ball ;  while  the  new  costume,  which  was  half  adopted 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          219 


THE   FASHIONS   FOR    1787. 


by  the  ladies,  became  in  1787  as  we  see  it  in  the  cut  which 
we  present  above. 

Black,  which  heretofore  had  been  the  obscure  color  confined 


220          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES 

to  lawyers,  authors,  and  all  those  who  then  formed  the  connect 
ing  link  between  the  vulgar  and  the  fashionable  world,  now 
suddenly  took  a  start,  and  became  the  "  ne  plus  ultra"  of  gen 
tility.  The  pre-eminence  then  attained  by  it  for  gentlemen 
has  been  retained  to  this  day,  while  colors  are  banished  to  the 
street  or  masquerades.  At  this  time,  too,  that  abomination  of 
abominations  for  the  covering  of  the  head,  known  as  the 
modern  hat,  began  to  assume  its  present  hideous  shape, 
for  which  the  transformer  deserves  the  pains  of  decapitation. 
Expensive  lace  became  the  passion  of  the  dandies,  who 
piqued  themselves  upon  having  a  different  variety  for  each 
season. 

It  was  the  fashion,  also,  for  gentlemen  to  wear  much  costly 
jewelry,  as  another  mode  of  distinguishing  themselves  from 
the  plebeian  crowd.  In  1780  was  introduced  tho  singularity 
of  wearing  two  watches  at  once,  burdened  with  immense 
chains.  This  was  also  adopted  by  the  ladies.  The  custom 
now  appears  ridiculous,  but,  in  reality,  it  is  no  more  so  than 
the  present  one  of  loading  a  vest  with  a  huge  bundle  of  non 
descript  jewelry — coral  and  bone  arms,  legs,  and  death's-heads 
— under  the  name  of  charms.  The  Marshal  Richelieu  was 
one  of  the  first  to  carry  two  watches.  One  day  a  caller,  by 
some  mischance,  threw  them  both  on  the  floor.  He  began  to 
overwhelm  the  Marshal  with  excuses.  "  Make  yourself  easy," 
replied  the  veteran  of  politeness,  "  I  never  saw  them  go  so 
well  together  before." 

The  ladies,  not  to  be  outdone  in  extravagance  by  their  lords, 
turned  their  attentton  to  their  hair,  and  invented  the  strangest 
coiffures.  The  Roman  ladies,  in  their  rage  for  red  perukes, 
frequently  sacrificed  their  own  raven  locks  altogether,  and 
accumulated  several  hundred  of  different  shades  in  a  short 
time.  The  passion  of  the  French  was  for  white.  A  carica 
ture  of  1 778  gives  an  idea  of  the  height  to  which  they  car- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


221 


CARICATURE,  1778. 


ried  their   new  fashion,  which,  after 
all,  was  not  much  above  the  truth. 

The    chronicles    of    the    day    are 
filled  with  scandalous  stories  of  the 
relations  between  the  grand  dames 
and  the  artists  thus  admitted  to  the 
solitude  and   privacy  of  their  bed 
chambers.    The  art  of  the 
coiffeurs  became  a  great 
one  in  the  eyes  of  fash 
ion.     A  work  on  the  sub 
ject  was    pub 
lished  at  eight 
dollars  the  vol 
ume.    The  pro 
fessors  became 
rich  and  distin 
guished.       The 
handsome  Leo 
nard,  who  was 
the  coiffeur  of 
the  queen,  Ma 
ria    Antoinette, 


succeeded  in  using  upward  of  fourteen  yards  of  gauze  upon 
a  single  head,  which  acquired  for  him  a  European  renown. 

The  turbans  and  bonnets  of  this  epoch  were  equally  extrav 
agant.  The  coiffures  of  the  ladies  became  so  high  that  the 
face  seemed  to  be  in  the  middle  of  their  bodies  ;  and  the  di 
rector  of  the  Opera  was  compelled  to  make  a  rule  that-  no  lady 
with  a  head-dress  above  a  certain  height  should  be  admitted 
into  the  amphitheatre,  because  the  spectators  were  unable,  on 
account  of  them,  to  see  the  stage.  If  the  ladies  are  induced 
to  class  them  as  "  frights,"  let  them  consider  that,  in  their  day, 


222          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


HEAD-DRESS,  1785. 

they  were   considered   equally  as   becoming    as   the   present 
styles. 

It  was  in  vain  that  the  caricaturists  leveled  their  weapons 
at  these  towering  head-dresses.  "  Top-knots"  would  not  "  come 
down."  They  waxed  higher  and  higher,  threatening  to  rival 
the  tower  of  Babel,  until  the  (dueen  was  attacked  by  a  violent 
illness,  which  occasioned  the  loss  of  the  flaxen  locks  that  had 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


223 


called  forth  the  genius  of  the  coiffeurs.  At  once  down  went 
the  towering  piles,  like  castles  in  the  clouds.  Every  lady  at 
court  appeared  with  a  flat  head.  The  next  great  change  in 
ladies'  gear  was  wrought  by  a  philosopher  and  poet.  St. 
Pierre  put  forth  his  Paul  et  Virgime,  and  all  Paris  went  mad 
for  simplicity  and  nature.  He  attired  his  heroine  in  simple 
white  muslin,  with  a  hat  of  plain  straw.  The  volatile  Paris- 


224          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


lenncs  were  captivated.  Silks  and  satins,  powder  and  poma 
tum,  vanished  as  if  by  magic,  and,  from  queen  to  waiting-maid, 
nobody  appeared  except  in  white  muslins  and  straw  hats. 

Geography  was  ransacked  to  find  names  for  these  remarka 
ble  superstructures  for  the  head.  Thus  there  were  bonnets  a 
la  Turkc,  a  I'Autriche,  and,  even  as  early  as  1785,  America 
was  honored  in  having  one  style,  called  a  la  Philadelphie ; 
finally,  the  wits,  or  the  geographical  knowledge  of  the  milli- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          225 


ners  being  exhaust 
ed,  they  christened 
their  latest  inven 
tion,  in  despair,  the 
"  anonymous  bon 
net." 

Paris,  in  the  year 
1851,  no  sooner  set 
eyes  on  the  would- 
be  American  fashion 
of  Bloomerism,  with 
its  short  skirts  and 
trowsered  legs,  than 
it  completely  extin 
guished  it  by  one 
blast  of  its  all-pow 
erful  ridicule.  Yet, 
as  long  ago  as  1772, 
it  had  adopted  a 
mode,  compounded 
from  the  Polonaise, 
equally  as  open  to 
objection,  so  far  as  scantiness  of  petticoats  was  concerned,  with 
the  addition  of  heels  several  inches  in  height,  and  walking- 
sticks  which  might  easily  be  mistaken  for  boarding-pikes. 

The  extravagance  and  luxury  of  the  fashionables  of  both 
sexes  immediately  preceding  the  Revolution,  which  was  des 
tined  to  ingulf  them  and  their  fortunes,  were  such  as  almost 
to  palliate  the  excesses  of  the  people  who  had  so  long  and  pa 
tiently  borne  with  the  heartlessness  and  vices  of  the  aristoc 
racy.  There  was  a  rivalry  among  the  great  lords  and  bankers 
as  to  who  should  ruin  themselves  soonest  for  the  favorite  ac- 


BONNET,  1786. 


tresses  of  the  day. 


Then  courtesans  rode  in  their  carriages 
K2 


226          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


BONNET,   1786. 


made  with  panels  of  porcelain,  silver  spokes,  drawn  by  six 
horses,  and  attended  hy  mounted  servants  in  livery.  Even 
royalty  was  scandalized  and  outdone  by  the  magnificence  of 
their  equipages,  hotels,  and  houses  of  pleasure.  The  nobles, 
as  if  with  a  presentiment  of  their  coming  fate,  hastened  to 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.         227 


THE   FASHIONS,  1787,  '88. 

pour  into  the  laps  of  their  mistresses  their  entire  fortunes, 
seeking  to  drown  in  refined  debauchery  the  thunder  of  the 
storm  that  already  began  to  roll  over  their  heads. 

Among  the  follies  which  the  fashions  of  this  date  presented 
was  the  confusion  which  arose  between  male  and  female  at 
tire.  Men  borrowed  the  laces,  ruffles,  belts,  jewelry,  and  fine- 


228          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

ry  of  the  women.  They,  in  revenge,  took  the  coats,  vests, 
open  shirts,  cravats,  powdered  queues,  canes,  and  even  cloth 
frock-coats  of  the  men.  The  fashion  of  the  male  for  one 
month  was  frequently  adopted  for  the  mode  of  the  female  for 
the  next.  Sexual  proprieties  in  dress  were  utterly  confounded, 
and  this  medley  of  apparel  extended  in  some  degree  to  habits 
and  pursuits.  The  ladies  seized  upon  the  studies  and  occupa 
tions  of  men.  Many  of  their  conquests  they  have  retained  to 
this  day,  as  any  one  conversant  with  Paris  can  perceive. 

In  the  midst  of  this  extravagance  came  the  Revolution. 
The  etiquette  and  magnificence  of  the  old  society  disappeared 
in  the  vortex  of  the  social  whirlpool.  Diamonds  and  lace, 
flowers  and  plumes,  embroidered  coats  and  satin  robes,  all  the 
luxurious  and  costly  creations  of  past  fashion,  sunk  more  rap 
idly  than  they  arose.  Fortunes  were  annihilated  in  a  day. 
Royalty  even  put  on  plebeian  shoes,  mounted  the  coarse  cap 
of  the  worker,  and  shouted  the  hollow  cry  of  "  Egalite  /"  Uni 
versal  brotherhood  was  on  the  lips  of  men,  and  universal  hate 
in  their  hearts.  Religion  and  decency  fled  in  affright.  It 
was  the  advent  of  sans-culottism.  For  a  while,  coarseness  and 
vulgarity,  under  the  garbs  of  equality  and  fraternity,  reigned 
triumphant.  For  a  time  they  took  the  form  of  Anglo-mania, 
This  was  before  the  advent  of  the  "  classical"  era.  The  club- 
bists  carried  enormous  cudgels,  wore  thick  shoes  and  coarse 
coats,  and  in  all  ways  endeavored  to  transform  themselves 
into  blackguards,  with  the  most  complete  success.  The  stones 
of  the  Bastile  were  made  up  into  patriotic  breast-pins  for  the 
bosoms  of  beauty.  Copper  buckles  replaced  the  gold  and  sil 
ver  of  former  years.  Wealth  and  fashion,  once  so  inordinately 
displayed,  were  now  the  sure  tokens  of  destruction.  Safety 
was  only  in  abject  humility  and  conspicuous  poverty.  But 
French  nature,  though  it  could  endure  the  tyranny  of  political 
Jacobinism,  was  restless  under  the  extinction  of  fashion  and 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          229 

obliteration  of  clean  breeches.  It  soon  rebelled  ;  discarding  all 
past  inventions,  it  struck  out  new  and  tenfold  more  ridiculous 
costumes  than  before.  The  fashion-plates  of  that  time  reveal 
this  rebellion  against  sans-culottism  in  a  thousand  comical 
ways.  A  view  of  the  rendezvous  of  the  fashionable  world, 
the  garden  of  the  famous  "  Palais  Royal,"  as  it  existed  in  1792, 
would  better  illustrate  the  "  cut"  of  the  day  than  pages  of  de 
scription.  The  different  political  parties  displayed  their  mu 
tual  hatred,  not  so  much  in  words,  which  they  dared  not  utter, 
as  in  the  silent  but  mocking  eloquence  of  dress.  The  popular 
tri-colors  and  cut  and  unpowdered  hair  remained,  however,  in 
the  ascendency.  But  neither  the  horrors  of  the  scaffold  nor 
the  brutalities  of  Jacobinism  could  long  suppress  the  preten 
sions  of  the  young  elegants  to  dress  as  they  pleased.  Indeed, 
it  became  a  species  of  heroism,  by  extravagant  finery  and  out 
rageous  taste,  joined  to  a  mincing,  effeminate  voice,  to  throw 
contempt  upon  the  coarseness  of  their  political  opponents. 
The  "  jeunesse  doree"  of  this  period  were  clerks,  young  law 
yers,  and  others  of  equally  humble  origin,  who,  having  aided 
in  destroying  the  old  aristocracy,  now  sought  to  excel  them  in 
vice  and  folly. 

Each  succeeding  year  gave  origin  to  fashions,  if  possible, 
more  absurd  than  the  preceding.  The  moral  chaos  that  pre 
vailed  in  France  affected  all  material  things.  Dress  was  not 
only  more  or  less  typical  of  politics,  but  illustrative  of  the 
classical  theories  of  the  times.  The  military  scholar  of  the 
school  of  Mars,  in  1793,  wore  a  mongrel  uniform,  invented  by 
the  painter  David,  and  intended  to  be  partly  Roman,  partly 
Grecian,  but  which  any  old  legendary  or  phalanx  veteran  of 
Csesar  or  Alexander  would  have  indignantly  rejected  as  whol 
ly  French. 

Upon  the  overthrow  of  Robespierre,  fashion  took  for  a  time 
a  strange  turn.  A  year  before,  men  went  in  red  night-caps, 


THE   MODE,  1800. 


THE    MODE,  1812. 


232          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES 

and  magistrates  wore  wooden  shoes.  Now  the  citizens  emu 
lated  the  times  of  the  Regency  in  the  extravagance,  if  not  in 
the  elegance  of  their  costumes.  The  most  popular  entertain 
ments  were  the  bals  a  victime.  To  be  admitted  to  these,  one 
must  have  lost  a  relative  by  the  guillotine.  The  dancers  wore 
crape  about  the  arm,  and  gayly  danced  in  honor  of  the  de 
ceased.  It  became  the  fashion  to  show  the  profoundest  ab 
horrence  of  the  Reign  of  Terror.  Instead  of  Robespierre's 
tappedurs,  "  head-crackers,"  young  muscadines,  or  dandies,  in 
swallow-tailed  coats,  with  their  hair  plaited  at  the  temples 
and  flowing  behind  in  military  fashion,  made  it  a  duty  to. knock 
down  any  shag-coated  Jacobin  they  chanced  to  encounter. 
The  ladies,  too,  expressed  their  horror  of  the  bloody  time  in  a 
fashion  of  their  own.  The  Jacobins  had  made  a  virtue  of  de 
stroying  life  ;  the  production  of  life  must  be  the  grand  virtue 
under  the  new  state  of  things.  Hence,  in  1794,  it  was  noticed 
that  every  fashionable  citoyenne  was  cither  really  or  apparent 
ly  far  advanced  in  maternity. 

The  "Merveilleuse"  of  the  same  year,  by  the  capacity  of  her 
bonnet  and  the  slimness  of  her  skirts,  will  recall  a  fashion 
which  undoubtedly  some  of  my  readers  thought  "  extremely 
elegant"  in  its  day,  but  which  would  now  be  likely  to  consign 
its  wearer  to  a  mad  hospital. 

The  male  specimen  of  this  species  was  scarcely  less  re 
markable  in  his  choice  of  attire  ;  while  the  "Agiotcor" — a  po 
litical  bully,  a  blackguard,  on  a  par,  in  principles  and  practice, 
with  some  of  his  kindred  who  disgrace  our  republic — wore  a 
costume  which,  like  the  stripes  of  a  hyena,  distinguished  him 
at  once  from  the  more  respectable  citizen. 

The  attempt,  under  the  auspices  of  David,  to  revive  the 
classical  toga,  and  to  model  the  fashions  for  the  ladies  after 
the  costumes  of  Aspasia  and  Agrippina,  met  with  but  transient 
success,  owing  to  the  severity  of  the  climate,  which  was  par- 


THE  "MERVEILLEUSE,"  1793 


'MERVEILLEUX,"  1793. 


234 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


ticularly  unfavorable 
to  bare  throats  and 
legs,  arid  transparent 
muslin.  Besides,  none 
but  those  whom  na 
ture  had  plenteously 
clothed  with  charms 
could  with  complacen 
cy  thus  dispense  with 
dress.  Coughs,  rheu 
matisms,  and  ridicule 
soon  extinguished  all 
classical  ardor  among 
these  few,  tho'  num 
bers  of  the  fashionable 
women  of  the  period 
were  willing  to  sacri 
fice  both  modesty  and 
health  in  their  desire 
to  carry  back  the  civ 
ilization  of  the  world 
two  thousand  years, 
when  silk  was  worth 
its  weight  in  gold,  and 
cotton  an  unknown 
thing.  While  the  fash 
ion  lasted,  its  want  of 
adaptation  to  the  cli- 

"  L'AGIOTEOR,"  1795.  mate  gaye  rige  t()   gome 

ludicrous  scenes.  Thus,  at  the  famous  "Feast  of  Pikes," 
when  all  Paris  was  gathered  in  the  open  air,  a  sudden  storm 
of  rain  came  down.  The  thin  muslins  with  which  the  fe 
males  had  attired  themselves,  "  like  the  women  of  the  free 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          235 


"CLASSICAL  COSTUME,"  1796 

people  of  antiquity,"  were  soaked  through  in  a  moment,  and 
clung  closely  around  their  wearers,  so  that,  as  the  dry  chron 
icler  remarks,  "  the  shape  was  clearly  discernible."  "  Titus" 
and  "  Alcibiades"  would  have  been  more  than  human  to  have 
refrained  from  laughing  at  the  spectacle  presented  by  the  be 
draggled  "  Clorinda"  and  "  Aspasia."  The  coup  de  grace  was 
given  to  the  classical  fashion  by  the  appearance  of  a  favorite 
actress  in  the  character  of  a  Chinese  girl.  Her  costume 
would  hardly  have  been  recognized  in  Pekin ;  but,  such  as  it 


230          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

was,  it  struck  the  fancy  of  the  town ;  and  the  Parisiennes 
loaded  themselves  with  frills  and  ruffs,  fancying  that  they 
were  habited  a  la  Chinoisc. 

The  classical  party  were  divided  into  Romans  and  Athe 
nians,  whose  simplicity  of  attire  gave  rise  to  another  sect  in 
the  world  of  fashion  called  "  Incroyables"  They  protested 
against  the  invasion  of  antiquity  by  an  opposite  extreme  in 
dress  ;  so  that,  what  between  superfluity  of  coat  collar,  cra 
vat,  and  hat,  it  was  difficult  to  see  that  they  had  any  head 
at  all. 

At  this  epoch,  the  confusion,  or,  more  properly  speaking, 
medley  of  fashions — in  which  every  extreme  and  incongruity 
was  represented — was  at  its  height.  Each  taste  and  political 
sentiment  wantoned  in  its  own  masquerade.  The  liberty  of 
dressing  as  one  pleased  for  once  reigned  triumphant.  The 
Jacobins  reveled  in  dirt  and  dishabille  ;  the  classical  scholars 
in  nude  simplicity;  the  fops  .in  perukes,  powdered  heads, 
three-cornered  hats,  and  hair  cut  a  la  Titus  ;  the  ladies  as  sim 
ple  country  girls,  with  bonnets  a  la  butterfly ;  robes  a  la  Cy- 
belc ;  chemises  a  la  Carthaginoise ;  in  short,  a  la  any  thing 
their  caprices  or  ingenuity  could  devise.  Each  one  strove 
after  originality  ;  and  a  more  extraordinary  crowd  than  that 
of  the  streets  and  salons  of  Paris  under  the  Consulate  the 
world  will  never  again  see.  It  was  fashion  run  crazy.  The 
world  of  "  ton"  were  more  like  the  inmates  of  a  madhouse 
than  the  rulers  of  society.  Madame  Tallien — the  beauty  of  the 
day — wore  transparent  costumes,  in  imitation  of  the  Olympian 
gods.  Her  stockings  were  flesh-colored,  and  divided  at  the 
toes,  on  which  she  carried  rings  and  jewels.  Her  friend  Jo 
sephine — afterward  Empress — was  her  rival  in  fashion.  Fem 
inine  whims  did  not  stop  even  at  this  degree  of  immodesty, 
but  went  to  such  lengths  as  I  shall  not  undertake  to  describe. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  dresses  "  a  la  sauvage"  became  in 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.         237 


INCROYABLE,"  1796. 


vogue,  while  the  pictures  and  ornaments  openly  displayed 
would  have  scandalized  even  the  Roman  world,  and  been 
thought  not  quite  "  the  thing"  in  Sodom 

I  shall  run  hastily  over  the  intervening  space  between  tha<f 


238 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


era  and  our  own,  depending  mainly  upon  illustrations  to  show 
by  what  changes  of  cut  and  gradations  in  taste  our  present 
costumes  have  been  formed,  and  how  Paris — having  for  a 
while  rioted  in  every  species  of  extravagance  that  a  depraved 
and  licentious  taste  could  conceive — has  at  last  quietly  and  in 
disputably  assumed  the  supreme  rank 
in  the  world  of  fashion.  From  being 
the  butt  of  mankind  for  her  grossness 
of  garments,  she  has  become  the  arbi 
ter  of  civilization  as  to  what  it  shall 
wear  and  how  it  shall  live.  Not  a  ri 
val  disputes  her  sway 

As  the  Revolution   receded,  so 
luxury  augmented.     At  the  com 
mencement  of  the  present  century 
dress  had  simplified  wonderfully, 
and  the  worst  features  of  previous 
absurdities    had    disappeared,    al 
though  it  would  not  be  quite  safe 
for  man    or  woman  to  walk  the 
streets  in  our  day  in  the  attire  of 
that.     The  grand  passion,  after  the 
Egyptian  expedition,  was  for  India 
shawls,  pearls,  diamonds,  and  lace 
of  the   highest  price. 
Men  rivaled  women  in 
their  desires  for  these, 
luxuries.      The   debts 
of  Josephine    for  her 
toilet  in  a  short  time 
amounted  to  one  mill 
ion  two  hundred  thou 
sand  francs.      She  had  PROMENADE  COSTUME.  1801. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


239 


ordered  thirty-eight  new  bonnets  in  one  month ;  the  feathers 
alone  cost  eighteen  hundred  francs.  With  such  an  example, 
the  court  followed  so  rapidly  in  the  path  of  extravagance,  that 
even  Napoleon  was  scandalized,  although  he  had  said  to  his 
wife,  "  Josephine,  I  wish  that  you  shall  astonish  by  the  beauty 
and  richness  of  your  dress," 
following  up  the  precept 
with  action  one  day,  when 
she  was  not  clad  with  suffi 
cient  elegance  to  satisfy 
him,  by  throwing  the  con 
tents  of  his  ink-stand  upon 
her  costly  robe.  Josephine 
owned  one  hundred  and  fif 
ty  Cashmere  shawls  of  re 
markable  beauty  and  great 
price.  She  offered  Madame 
Murat  fourteen  thousand 
francs  for  one  that  pleased 
her. 

Judging  from  the  past, 
nothing  admits  of  greater 
variety  of  form  than  the 
modern  bonnet,  while  its 
rival — the  male  hat — is  re 
stricted  to  the  slightest  pos 
sible  variation  of  its  pipe 
shape.  Now,  the  fashion 
able  ladies  wear  their  bon 
nets  merely  suspended  from 
the  back  of  their  heads,  like 
the  outer  leaf  of  an  opening 
rose-bud.  Then  —  in  1801 


240          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


— they  overhung  the   forehead,  much   after  the  manner  of  a 

candle-extinguisher. 

In  1812,  the  modern  hat  had  assumed  the  general  shape 

which    it    has,  unfor 
tunately,    ever  .  since 
maintained,  and  with 
which  it  seems  likely 
to  make   the  tour  of 
the  globe.    The  ladies 
have   at  times   made 
various  assaults  upon 
it,  and  even  attempt 
ed  to  take  possession 
of  it  themselves  —  a 
conquest  which,  luck 
ily  for  the    influence 
of  their  charms,  they 
never  wholly  accom 
plished.      He    would 
be     a    benefactor    to 
the  human  race  who 
could  invent  a  suita 
ble   covering  for  the 
head    which     should 
utterly  annihilate  the 
present  source  of  dis 
comfort  and  ugliness 
which  surmounts  the 
front  of  him  made  in 
the  image  of  God 

In  1828,  the  leg-of- 
mutton  sleeve,  which 

CRAVAT    "A    OREILLES   DE    LI.VHB,"   1*12.  descended     in     its     full 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


241 


amplitude  to  the  pres 
ent  generation,  was  in 
full  vogue  ;  also,  the 
low  necks  and  backs, 
which  have  ever  re 
tained  their  populari 
ty,  by  a  strange  sort  of 
anomaly,  as  full  dress ; 
while  short  petticoats 
—  which  are  so  con 
venient —  have  been 
lengthened  into  unti 
dy  skirts  that  save  the 
street -cleaners  half 
their  trouble. 

I  have  brought  to 
gether,  in  one  tableau, 
the  four  most  remark 
able  types  of  dress 
that  have  swayed  the 
fashionable  world  for 
the  past  century.  The 
striking  changes  de 
picted  therein  are  in 
dicative  of  what  we 
may  look  for  in  the  fu 
ture.  With  so  plastic 
a  many-colored  mate 
rial  as  dress,  there  can 
be  no  limits  to  the  va 
rieties  of  costume. 


LEG-OF-MUTTON   SLEEVE,  1820. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A    PEEP    INTO    A    MONSTER    NURSERY,  WITH    A   GLIMPSE    AT    THE 

NURSES. 

I  HAVE  elsewhere  spoken  somewhat  of  the  "principles"  of 
the  hospital  for  foundlings  in  Paris,  which  is  a  type  of  the 
numerous  establishments  of  the  same  character  to  be  seen 
throughout  Roman  Catholic  Europe  ;  but  as  yet  I  have  not 
crossed  their  thresholds,  to  give  my  readers  a  "  sight"  within. 
To  Protestant  eyes  they  form  so  extraordinary  a  spectacle  that 
it  is  worth  our  while  to  take  a  peep,  if  but  to  see  how  so  mon 
strous  a  nursery  is  managed  by  its  good  parent,  the  state.  Be 
not  startled,  nervous  celibate  ;  the  winnings  and  cries  from 
five  thousand  baby  lungs  shall  not  reach  your  ears,  nor  the 
"  sights"  of  the  necessities  of  half  a  myriad  of  "  disgusting 
young  ones"  salute  your  eyes.  Each  one  of  the  "  precious  lit 
tle  souls"  shall  be  as  clean  and  quiet  as  if  slumbering  sweetly 
in  the  arms  of  a  doting  mamma,  so  that  your  bachelor  sensibili 
ties  need  fear  no  sudden  shock  ;  and  if  you  have  any  idea  of 
matrimony  still  lingering  about  your — I  will  not  say  impene 
trable  heart,  but  susceptible  head — do  not  be  discouraged  by 
the  appearance  of  so  many  cradles,  for  under  no  circumstances 
need  you  provide  for  an  "  expected"  family  on  so  extensive  a 
scale.  Besides,  matrimony  had  no  more  to  do  with  the  cre 
ation  of  most  of  these  creatures  than  with  the  apples  in  your 
orcharu.  All  that  they  can  ever  know  about  their  previous 
oriorjn  i;?  nmr.h  of  the  same  character  as  Topsev's  knowledge 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          243 

of  her  infantile  career.  They  never  had  any  father  or  moth 
er — "  they  growed" — a  term  about  as  explicit  as  the  Mosaic 
account  of  the  creation  of  the  firmament.  Poor  things ! 
clothed  alike,  fed  alike,  nursed  alike,  taught  alike,  and  spanked 
alike,  they  look  more  like  the  result  of  some  mysterious  in 
vention,  by  which  population,  by  scores,  is  turned  out  of  a 
newly-patented  machine,  not  yet  fully  perfected,  for  the  bene 
fit  of  the  government,  whose  wants  of  human  material  could 
not  brook  the  slow,  natural  mode  of  manufacture  of  immortal 
souls,  and  therefore  offered  a  reward  for  the  discovery  of  some 
more  wholesale  process. 

At  all  events,  the  babies,  without  regard  to  any  deficiency 
in  their  ancestral  trees,  are  all  gathered  together  here,  as  will 
be  seen  by  looking  into  one  of  their  sleeping  apartments,  where 
the  results  of  the  philanthropic  care  of  the  state,  in  acknowl 
edging  all  bastards  as  its  own,  is  palpably  manifest.  This 
national  charity  commenced  in  1552,  and  has  had  its  arms  full, 
in  increasing  ratio,  ever  since.  Indeed,  the  relation  between 
parent  and  child,  among  a  not  over-scrupulous  class  of  our 
brethren  and  sisters  by  Adam,  as  well  as  any  faith  in  the  old 
fangled  doctrine  of  matrimony,  seems  to  be  quite  exploded. 
They  beget,  and,  like  some  birds  that  we  read  of,  drop  their 
young,  to  take  their  chance,  into  the  nearest  nest,  at  the  same 
time  dropping  all  farther  thought  in  the  matter,  until  another 
accident  induces  a  repetition  of  their  infantile  contribution  to 
the  state  crib.  This,  to  be  sure,  is  better  than  strangling  the 
unfortunates,  though  a  goodly  proportion  soon  after  become 
strangled  by  the  joint  operation  of  the  natural  feebleness  of 
an  anonymous  existence,  and  the  hard  rearing  of  mercenary 
nurses,  to  whom  they  are  presented  in  the  country,  as  a  spe 
cies  of  scape-goats  for  the  sins  of  their  foster- families  in  par 
ticular,  and  society  in  general.  Those  who  escape  this  more 
fortunate  fate  are,  sooner  or  later,  choked  by  the  miseries  of 


244 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


actual  life,  to  which  their  introduction  is  about  as  good  a  prep 
aration  as  a  hot  bath  for  a  plunge  into  a  March  tide. 

The  poor  infant,  after  being  taken  in  at  the  hospital,  either 
as  picked  up  abandoned  in  the  street,  or  more  humanely  pass 
ed  through  the  re 
volving  box,  called 
the  "tour,"  which 
is  so  conveniently 
contrived  "  to  re 
ceive  and  no  ques 
tions  asked,"  is  as 
heartily  welcomed 
and  cared  for  as 
can  in  reason  be 
expected  by  wom 
en  doomed  by  their 
faith  never  to  awa 
ken  within  them 
selves  the  mater 
nal  instinct.  With 
what  mingled  feel 
ings  of  compassion 
and  dread  they 
must  each  day  ap 
proach  that  cradle 
which  never  re 
ceives  its  baby- 
charge  but  once ! 
It  always  reminds 
me  of  those  nondescript  monsters  with  which  our  faithful 
nurses  were  wont  to  tingle  our  juvenile  ears  with  horror, 
and  to  cause  our  little  hearts  to  beat  too  quickly  for  sleep 
through  the  long,  long,  first  hours  of  night,  at  the  climax, 


THE   "TOUR 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.         245 

"  how  they  swallowed  children  at  one  mouthful."  Then,  too, 
there  is  in  human  nature  an  instinctive  dislike  to  hear  other 
people's  children  cry — our  own  never  do — and  we  have  no 
patience  with  the  little  wretches,  that  should  be  strangled  if 
"they  won't  stop  their  noise."  I  doubt  if  old-maid  nature,  is 
much  more  charitable  than  old-bachelor  nature  in  this  respect. 
Added  to  this  is  the  natural  horror  and  vexation  that  fills  the 
heart  upon  receiving  hourly  evidence  that  parents  will  deny 
their  own  offspring,  and  thus  abuse  the  charity  of  the  merciful. 
Perhaps,  too,  there  is  some  little  curiosity  to  see  what  the 
next  turn  of  the  "  tour"  will  turn  out.  "Will  the  lottery  that 
never  gives  a  blank  yield  a  prize  ?  We  all  like  "  sweetly- 
dressed  children,"  "  clean  as  a  new  rose,"  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  provided  they  chirrup  and  look  happy,  as  if  they  knew 
their  mammas,  papas,  and  all  their  friends  individually  at  six 
weeks  old.  The  veriest  old  curmudgeon  is  flattered  by  such 
a  recognition,  and  smiles  because  he  can't  help  it.  What, 
then,  must  be  the  excitement  among  the  poor  nuns  when 
such  a  babe  turns  up,  with  a  whole  wardrobe  of  fine  linen, 
and  some  jewel  by  which  it  shall  at  some  future  time  be 
identified !  What  curiosity  to  know  whose  it  can  be,  with 
clothes  upon  its  delicate  limbs  fine  enough  for  the  first-born 
of  a  duchess,  and  perhaps  a  mysterious  note,  saying  that  the 
infant  is  not  a  mere  waif  upon  the  shores  of  charity,  but 
simply  a  loan  of  flesh  and  blood,  to  be  called  for  in  due  time, 
with  the  accumulated  interest  of  proper  care  and  education  ! 
Will  the  poor  sisters  love  this  one  more  than  the  next,  a  snub- 
nosed,  squalling,  red-skinned  twelve-pounder,  scantily  covered 
with  a  dirty  rag,  and  showing  animal  fierceness  and  strong 
opposition  in  its  first  hours  ?  I  wot  not.  These  sentiments 
are  the  secrets  of  individual  hearts.  Sufficient  for  us  to  know 
that  all  are  received  with  equal  tenderness,  numbered,  and, 
when  put  out  to  nurse,  ticketed  by  a  collar  upon  the  neck,  or 


246  PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

with  rings  in  the  ears  sealed  by  the  administration  of  the  hos 
pital.  Wherever  the  child  goes,  it  is  stamped  as  illegitimate 
and  the  property  of  the  hospital.  This  is  not  the  most  prom 
ising  introduction  to  the  world,  though  the  necessity  of  some 
distinguishing  token  is  obvious. 

By  a  singular  contradiction  in  French  law,  after  providing 
every  facility  for  the  abandonment  of  these  infants,  it  punishes 
those  who  are  guilty  of  this  crime  by  imprisonment.  Even 
fifteen  years  at  hard  labor  has  been  the  sentence  in  one  case, 
while  in  another  but  three  months'  confinement,  showing  evi 
dently  that  the  French  judges  are  puzzled  to  reconcile  the 
temptation  of  the  law  on  the  one  hand  with  its  severity  on 
the  other. 

There  have  been  established  recently  in  France  asylums  for 
children,  somewhat  upon  the  plan  of  our  infant  schools.  Their 
object  is  in  some  degree  primary  instruction,  but  chiefly  to 
aflbrd  suitable  care,  during  the  day,  to  the  young  children  of 
poor  parents,  compelled  to  leave  their  homes  for  their  daily 
subsistence.  The  government  allows  them  annually  three 
hundred  thousand  francs  from  the  public  budget  of  instruction. 
Private  benevolence  supplies  the  remainder.  Their  tendency 
is  to  prevent  the  causes  which,  among  the  destitute,  lead  to 
the  abandonment  of  their  infants,  by  providing  them  with  a 
home  during  those  hours  when  their  parents  are  compelled  to 
desert  them.  The  parents  are  required  to  send  them  with 
clean  face  and  hands,  unbroken  garments,  and  their  food  for 
the  day.  Upon  arrival,  an  inspection  takes  place,  to  see 
whether  these  conditions  have  been  fulfilled.  They  are 
taught  music  and  other  lessons  suitable  to  their  years,  but  no 
exercise  is  allowed  to  continue  over  ten  minutes,  for  fear  of 
fatigue.  Religious  education  is  attended  to,  and  in  no  case  is 
corporal  punishment  allowed.  For  the  sleepy  a  bed  is  pro 
vided.  There  are  about  thirty  of  these  asylums  in  Paris,  re- 


243          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

cciving  annually  nearly  ten  thousand  infants,  from  the  ages  of 
two  to  seven  years. 

The  "  creches  modclcs?  or  public  cribs  of  Paris,  bid  fair  to  do 
much  to  counteract  the  evil  tendencies  of  the  foundling  hos 
pitals.  The  home  of  every  child  should  be  the  family  ;  but 
as  many  families  arc  incapable  of  providing  a  home,  and  more, 
from  vice,  furnish  only  a  school  of  evil,  it  is  well  for  society 
that  it  should  provide  an  asylum  for  one  and  the  means  of 
escape  for  the  other  ;  consequently,  for  the  children  of  house 
holds  like  those  of  the  destitute  and  vicious  of  Paris,  these 
model  nurseries  are  a  special  providence.  The  mother  pays 
two  cents  a  day  for  the  use  of  a  cradle,  and  engages  cither  to 
nurse  her  child  herself  or  provide  its  food.  The  children  have 
every  facility  allotted  them  for  their  amusement  and  instruc 
tion,  so  far  as  their  tender  years  admit.  They  can  be  depos 
ited  as  early  as  half  past  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  re 
main  until  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening.  The  cradles  arc  all 
uniform  in  make,  clean,  and  even  tasteful  in  their  arrange 
ments.  Each  day  a  physician  calls  to  assure  himself  of  the 
health  of  these  diurnal  orphans,  and  to  see  that  all  proper  san 
itary  regulations  are  enforced.  Sisters  of  charity  have  gen 
eral  charge  of  the  establishments,  under  the  care  of  the  lady 
managers  of  the  infant  asylums.  Mothers  applying  for  admit 
tance  for  their  babes  must  justify  their  poverty  or  necessity 
for  going  out  to  daily  labor. 

It  requires  a  certain  education  of  nurses,  independent  of  all 
parental  or  benevolent  volition,  to  endure  with  complacency 
the  noise  of  the  children  of  an  ordinary  family  let  loose  for 
fun  and  frolic.  What,  then,  must  be  the  juvenile  uproar  in  one 
of  these  establishments,  where  each  infant  is  encouraged  to  use 
its  French  tongue,  with  any  accompaniment  of  toy  or  instru 
ment  it  may  chance  to  possess,  at  its  own  discretion !  How 
ever,  it  is  a  children's  paradise,  and  they  arc  right  to  use  their 


iI50          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

tiny  lungs  in  joyous  uproar.  Just  look  in  upon  the  play-hall, 
and  see  if  these  sprouts  of  poverty  have  not  cause  to  be  en 
vied  by  the  twigs  of  many  rich  households!  They  are  as 
merry  as  larks,  and  as  happy  as  innocence  and  kind  care  can 
make  them. 

The  suckling  department  is  quieter,  for  the  infants  in  gen 
eral  sleep  the  day  through.  If  they  awake,  a  faint  cry  an 
nounces  some  simple  want,  which  provided  for,  they  go  off  to 
sleep  again.  I  dare  not  say  so  much  for  the  next  room,  which 
contains  those  who  have  attained  the  mature  age  of  between 
twelve  and  twenty-four  months,  and  are  supposed  to  require 
something  more  substantial  in  the  way  of  diet  than  maternal 
milk.  The  beds  are  models  of  grace  and  neatness  in  their 
way  ;  they  are  intended  for  the  "  naps"  which  that  condition 
of  infancy  requires,  occupying,  to  the  comfort  of  their  nurses, 
some  hours  of  the  day.  When  not  thus  peacefully  employed, 
they  are  engaged  in  feasting,  and  the  clatter  of  metallic  spoons 
upon  the  firm  wood  of  their  table  announces  either  that 
their  sufficiency  is  satisfied,  or,  like  little  Oliver,  they  wish  for 
"  more."  Of  course,  their  standard  of  education  is  not  as  yet 
very  elevated,  being  limited  to  some  simple  devotions  and  at 
tempts  at  vocal  harmony  or  uniformity  of  noise,  by  way  of  di 
versifying  the  medley  of  sounds. 

Paris  possesses  twenty-four  of  these  philanthropic  mangers, 
the  utility  of  which,  when  rightly  conducted,  for  the  classes  for 
which  they  are  intended,  can  not  be  exaggerated.  They  cost 
nearly  eighty-five  thousand  francs  per  annum,  of  which  the 
poor  parents  contribute  some  nineteen  thousand. 

Connected  in  some  degree  with  the  institutions  we  have 
mentioned  is  the  class  of  nurses,  of  which  the  Parisian  type  is 
remarkable  for  its  jocund  proportions  and  coarse  features. 
They  are  required  to  possess  certificates  from  the  mayors  of 
their  respective  villages  that  they  are  married  women  of  srood 


252 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


report.  In  general,  they  are  too  ready  to  neglect  their  own 
offspring  for  the  sake  of  the  pittance  to  be  gained  as  a  private 
or  public  nurse.  By  a  policy  at  first  sight  not  very  promising, 
they  seek  engagements  in  their  worst  apparel,  believing  that 
the  parents  whose  necessities  require  their  services  will  not 
allow  them  long  to  suckle  their  infants  in  their  own  ragged 
and  filthy  clothes.  This  speculation  of  poverty  generally 
turns  to  their  advantage,  and  they  are  enabled  to  return  to 
their  country  homes  reclad  at  the  expense  of  their  employers, 
to  await  the  birth  of  a  new  infant,  which  shall  give  them 


.  .:..  '   ;    ,  . 


THE    TABLR 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          253 

again  the  coveted  opportunity  of  going  to  Paris  on  a  similar 
adventure. 

There  are  regular  offices  for  nurses,  where  they  remain 
waiting  engagements.  Fifty  or  more,  with  their  bahies,  while 
seeking  employment,  are  shut  up  in  small,  dirty  chambers, 
where  neither  light  nor  air  is  abundant.  Their  food,  too,  dur 
ing  this  probation,  owing  to  their  parsimony,  is  of  the  mean 
est  description,  consisting  of  soups  at  two  sous  the  porrin 
ger,  wine  at  three  sous  the  bottle,  with  other  aliment  at  sim 
ilar  prices.  A  more  vulgar  and  mercenary  race  of  females 
than  that  to  which,  by  the  false  customs  of  French  parents, 
their  infants  are  intrusted  during  the  most  susceptible  period 
of  their  lives,  it  would  be  difficult  for  the  world  elsewhere  to 
produce,  excepting,  perhaps,  the  female  managers  of  these  bu 
reaus,  who,  perhaps,  have  secured  their  positions  and  clientage 
from  being  formerly  of  the  shrewdest  arid  most  mercenary  of 
the  race  themselves.  It  requires  the  eloquence  of  a  new  Jean 
Jacques  Rousseau  to  re-awaken  Parisian  mothers  once  more  to 
the  duty  and  pleasure  of  fulfilling  the  natural  laws  of  mater 
nity,  and  preserving  their  offspring  from  the  tender  mercies  of 
these  harpies. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    WIDOWS    OF    THE    DEVIL. 
(Partly  from  the  French  of  Eugene  Guinot.) 

A  DROLL  title,  without  doubt,  but  none  the  less  true,  gentle 
reader  mine,  as  you  will  soon  perceive.  I  do  not  mean  either 
those  widows  who,  before  they  were  such,  affect  to  think  all 
husbands  devils,  and  after  they  become  so,  seek  to  persuade 
the  world,  by  the  depth  of  their  mourning  and  the  eloquence 
of  epitaphs,  that  their  departed  lords  were  saints,  when  indeed, 
if  the  truth  were  known,  they  were  simply  martyrs ;  but  I  do 
mean  another  class  of  women  common  every  where,  and  play 
ing  the  very  deuce  with  sons  and  husbands  out  of  pure  taste 
for  deviltry.  "Who,  then,  can  be  so  correctly  called  "  widows 
of  the  devil"  as  those  who,  bestowing  themselves  upon  no  flesh 
and  blood  husbands,  early  join  themselves  in  wedlock  to  a 
master  that  allows  them  a  few  days'  revelry  at  the  expense  of 
never-ending  sorrow  ?  If  their  mischief  were  confined  to  their 
own  reckless  selves,  we  might  remonstrate,  pity,  and  weep  ; 
but  as  it  extends  through  all  circles,  one  resource  to  arrest  its 
progress  is  to  daguerreotype  a  few  of  its  phases,  not  only  as  a 
warning  to  the  "  widows"  themselves  to  beware  in  the  outset 
how  they  give  ear  to  the  proposals  of  the  Evil  One,  but  to  any 
son  of  woman  how  he  gives  ear  to  them. 

As  Paris  is  the  city  in  which  their  brief  triumph  is  the  most 
complete,  and  their  fall,  owing  to  its  graduated  scale  of  morals, 
the  slowest  and  least  hopeless,  I  select  it  as  the  scene  of  my 
pictures  ;  for  what  is  true  in  that  paradise  of  fools  becomes 
doublv  true  elsewhere. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          255 


In  seeing  pass  before  you  those  beautiful  butterflies — those 
seductive  females  who  attach  themselves  to  society  only  by  its 
lien  of  flowers — at  once  lovely  and  frail,  do  you  not  ever  ask 
yourself  whither  go  they,  and  what  will  one  day  become  of 
them  ?  Leaving  to  others  domestic  felicity  and  regular  hab 
its,  quiet  virtues  and  hidden  vices,  they  sport  upon  the  wings 
of  chance  without  check,  without  regard  to  appearance,  show 
ing  with  equal  frankness  all  that  they  have  of  good  and  all  that 
they  do  of  evil.  Their  sole  mission  is  joy  for  the  moment ; 
not  that  inward  joy  that  springs  from  a  good  conscience,  but 
that  sensuous  happiness  which  forgets  all  deeper  and  truer 
emotion  in  finding  its  caprices  met,  and  its  physical  frivolities 
and  grosser  passions  gratified. 

If  there  be  any  happiness  whose  essence  is  solely  of  earth, 
it  is  theirs.  Any  element  of  a  purer  and  more  spiritual  na 
ture  would  be  as  unwelcome  to  them  as  a  skeleton  at  a  least. 
To  feel,  and  not  to  think,  is  their  creed  ;  the  body,  and  not  the 
spirit,  is  their  principle.  "While  they  remain  young  and  full 
of  health,  their  life  flows  on  easily  and  gladsome.  They  find 
time  only  to  float  on  the  breath  of  a  fantasy  or  the  sea  of 
pleasure,  whose  soft  murmurs  at  once  invite  and  caress  them. 
The  thought  of  a  to-morrow  never  crosses  the  path  of  to-day. 
Each  hour  gives  birth  to  new  schemes  of  pleasure — new  sacri 
fices  of  their  future  for  the  joy  of  the  present.  The  exhausted 
hero  of  one  love  disappears  but  to  be  replaced  by  the  fuller 
purse  or  more  comely  person  of  another.  Thus  they  pass  on, 
faithless  to  others,  faithless  to  their  own  souls,  deriding,  in 
their  dream  of  youth,  all  that  is  serious  and  good,  and  faithful 
only  to  their  fickle  loves,  their  transient  pleasures,  their  de 
basing  luxuries,  their  empty  worldliness,  and  all  the  vanities 
which  fill  and  rule  the  head  and  heart  of  a  female  devotee  of 
amusement. 

Solomon  admits  that  there  is  a  time  to  dance ;  but  one  should 


256          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

not  dance  unless  one  knows  when  and  how  to  stop.  On  some 
fine  day,  youth  begins  to  fade.  A  gray  hair,  a  wrinkle,  or  a 
twinge,  not  of  conscience,  but  of  body,  announce  its  coming 
adieu.  Like  the  worm-hole  in  the  ripe  fruit,  they  tell  of  hid 
den  decay  with  exaggerated  meaning.  Hardly,  however,  is 
the  discovery  made,  before  all  the  graces  and  comeliness  on 
which  pleasure  reposed  find  their  premature  draught  on  decay 
and  decrepitude  promptly  honored.  Then,  when  youth  and 
beauty  have  passed  away,  when  the  transitory  loves  and  their 
golden  showers  have  likewise  disappeared,  what  becomes  of 
those  females  who  live  but  to  please  or  be  pleased  through  the 
medium  of  the  senses,  and  who,  in  living  thus,  expend  both 
their  revenues  and  capital  ? 

Let  two  retired  gentlemen  of  the  world,  of  a  certain  age, 
say  from  fifty  to  sixty  years,  who  are  seated  in  the  Tuileries 
garden,  explain  to  us  the  enigma.  They  have  been  convers 
ing  over  the  events  of  their  youth,  and  naturally  have  fallen 
into  a  philosophical  mood  ;  for  there  were  many  circumstances 
in  the  lives  of  both,  though  in  a  different  way,  which  led  them 
to  be  serious. 

"  ^VVhat  becomes  of  them,"  asked  the  elder,  but  best  pre 
served  of  the  two — "  of  those  queens  dethroned  by  time,  and 
where  can  I  find  them  ?  Tell  me,  for  you  should  know." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  replied  his  companion,  with  a 
somewhat  testy  tone,  as  if  the  question  brought  back  some 
memories  which  he  would  feign  have  drowned  in  Lethe.  "I 
know  absolutely  nothing  about  it,  my  dear  Eugene  ;  why  do 
you  ask  such  a  question  ?" 

Both  remained  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  when  the  younger 
again  spoke. 

"  Forgive  me,  Eugene,  I  spoke  too  hastily.  I  will  do  pen 
ance  by  recounting  a  history  which  will  answer  your  question 
perfectly,  though  the  follies  of  one's  youth  —  I  should  say 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          257 

more  honestly  the  vices — are  not  the  most  agreeable  reminis 
cences  for  one's  age. 

"  You  have  always  been,  as  I  see  you  now,  a  grave,  quiet 
man,  and  a  stranger  to  those  passions  which  beget  folly  and 
regret.  I,  on  the  contrary,  have  had  a  youth  full  of  activity 
and  adventure.  Soon  after  quitting  college,  my  uncle  died, 
leaving  me  rich  enough  to  follow  my  own  tastes.  I  bade 
adieu  to  the  country,  and  came  to  Paris,  where  I  found  Rob 
ert,  my  old  classmate  of  Saint  Barbe.  There  was  that  like 
ness  between  us  that  made  our  friendship  solid  and  sure,  and 
yet  sufficient  difference  of  wit  and  character  to  keep  it  ever 
fresh  and  pleasant.  We  were  both  free,  full  of  health,  well 
formed,  well  educated  as  the  world  goes,  and  with  plenty  of 
the  sinews  of  pleasure  in  the  shape  of  current  coin.  What 
was  there,  then,  to  prevent  our  success  in  the  field  of  fashion 
of  Paris  ? 

"Absolutely  nothing  but  our  own  modesty,  and  that  soon 
vanished.  Our  debuts  were  signalized  by  numerous  successes, 
for  youth,  fortune,  beauty,  leisure,  and  the  inclination  to  taste 
the  forbidden  fruit,  command  nowhere  a  higher  premium  than 
at  Paris. 

"  Nothing  resisted  us — at  all  events,  long.  It  is  true  that  we 
attacked  only  those  citadels  that  armed  themselves  but  to  pro 
voke  assault.  In  the  career  of  agreeable  and  easy  adventures, 
Robert,  I  must  confess,  excelled  me  greatly.  I  soon  learned  to 
consider  him  my  master.  He  was  a  veritable  hero  of  pleas 
ure  ;  irresistible  in  attack,  superb  in  triumph.  He  was  known 
every  where  under  the  soubriquet  of  '  The  Devil,'  on  account 
of  his  prowess.  The  polite  and  frivolous  world  in  which  we 
lived  called  him  '  Robert  le  Diablc,'  and  it  was  not  without 
an  emotion  of  joy  that  he  one  day  found  that  Scribe  and 
Meyerbeer  had  made  him  the  hero  of  their  celebrated  opera 
of  that  name.  We  ran  on  thus  for  twenty  years,  thoughtlessly 


258          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  ANL)  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

and  wicked,  as  you  may  believe,  and  might  have  done  no  bet 
ter  to  this  day,  had  not  Providence  interposed  sundry  infirm 
ities,  the  distaste  of  satiety,  or  incapacity,  to  restore  us  to  our 
sober  senses.  One  or  all  combined  helped  to  mend  our  mor 
als.  Robert  owned,  at  sixty  leagues  from  Paris,  the  estate  of 
Margillac,  a  beautiful  spot,  with  delightful  gardens,  a  fine 
park,  and  picturesque  environs.  It  was  there  that  we  both 
retired  to  recruit  our  exhausted  energies,  and  gracefully  termi 
nate  our  career.  "We  had  good  books,  good  wines,  and  laugh 
able  souvenirs  ;  for,  although  our  strength  had  waned,  our 
tastes  remained  pretty  much  as  when  we  first  commenced 
'life.'  How  many  pleasant  hours  we  passed  in  resuscitating 
the  Past !  Robert  had  one  fixed  idea.  He  constantly  figured 
to  himself  that  all  the  women  he  once  had  loved  raised  to  him 
a  perpetual  altar  in  their  hearts.  It  was  under  the  impulse 
of  this  nattering  belief  that  he  made  his  will  last  winter, 
when  attacked  with  an  illness  that  finally  closed  his  eyes. 
'  My  dear  Oscar,'  said  he  to  me, '  I  make  you  my  executor.  I 
leave  you  the  estate  of  Margillac  ;  the  rest  of  my  property  goes 
to  my  nephews,  except  the  sum  of  one  hundred  thousand 
francs,  which  I  charge  you  with  distributing  among  my  "  wid 
ows."  '  He  thus  called  the  frail  partners  of  his  tender  pas 
sions,  so  that,  as  you  perceive,  they  were  doubly  the  widows 
of  the  devil. 

" '  Among  those  unfortunate  women  who  contributed  so 
much  to  my  career  of  folly,'  he  went  on  to  say, '  there  are  ten 
that  I  wish  particularly  remembered.  Here  are  their  names 
written  in  this  album  :  Athenais,  Colombo,  Antonia,  Susanne, 
Flora,  Olympe,  Armide,  Arthemise,  and  Rosalba.  You  have 
known  them  all,  and  you  will  find  at  the  end  of  their  names 
all  the  details  which  my  memory  can  at  present  gather.  I 
wish  to  leave  to  each  of  these  females  a  memorial  of  my 
friendship,  and  to  recompense  them,  for  the  last  time,  for  the 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          259 

love  they  have  had  for  me,  and  the  souvenirs  which  they  have 
preserved  of  me.  To  each  of  them  I  formerly  gave  my  por 
trait  :  the  legacy  is  to  be  distributed  among  those  who  have 
preserved  this  image,  and  can  show  it  to  you.  If  any  are 
dead,  or  if  some  have  forgotten  me  or  lost  my  portrait,  then 
their  portion  is  to  revert  to  the  others.  Such  is,  my  dear  Os 
car,  the  business  that  devolves  upon  you.  I  am  sure  you  will 
fulfill  it  conscientiously ;  but,  as  I  do  not  wish  to  abuse  your 
zeal  and  devotion,  I  require  only  three  months  of  researches  ; 
after  that  the  money  is  to  revert  to  my  heirs.' 

"  Two  days  after  giving  me  these  instructions,  Robert  died. 
Faithful  to  the  promise  I  made  him,  and  furnished  with  the 
one  hundred  thousand  francs,  I  came  to  Paris  to  seek  the  leg 
atees.  For  three  weeks  I  have  sought  every  where,  without 
finding  a  trace  of  one  of  those  females.  Judge,  then,  how 
apropos,  and  yet  how  annoying,  was  your  question.  It  is 
twenty  years  since  I  put  foot  in  Paris,  and  I  find  myself  in  an 
unknown  land.  I  lose  myself  daily,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  do 
not  know  to  whom  to  address  myself  to  learn  where  I  can  find 
a  single  one  of  those  women  that  poor  Robert  flattered  him 
self  still  remember  him." 

At  this  moment,  M.  Oscar  Palemon  having  finished  speak 
ing,  a  withered,  wrinkled,  and  black  hand  extended  itself  to 
ward  him.  It  was  the  ragged  and  hag-like  letter  of  chairs, 
who  carne  to  demand  the  two  sous  her  due. 

"Will  you  have  some  change,  my  dear  Palemon  ?"  said  Eu 
gene  Benoit. 

"  Monsieur  Palemon,"  repeated  the  old  crone  ;  "  that  is  a 
name  I  have  heard  before." 

"  No  doubt,  good  woman,"  with  a  disdainful  smile,  replied 
the  testamentary  executor  of  Robert. 

"  Eh  !  eh  !"  continued  the  old  woman,  "  he  would  not  have 
had  cause  to  blush  before  you,  my  fine  sir.  He  was  a  some- 


260          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

body  in  his  time,  and  he  must  have  been  something  more  than 
a  dandy  who  was  flattered  with  the  particular  acquaintance 
of  Rosalba  Delorme." 

""What!  can  you  be  she?  Then  I  have  found  one!*'  ex 
claimed  Monsieur  Palemon.  "  You,  then,  are  Rosalba  De- 
lonne,  that  pretty  little  blonde  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  1  was  a  blonde,  unfortunately  ;  for  the  blondes 
last  a  less  time  than  the  brunettes.  If  I  had  been  a  brunette,  I 
should  have  lasted  three  or  four  years  longer,  and  not  have  been 
reduced  as  you  see  me.  I  am  now  seeking  my  fortune  where 
I  have  lost  my  beauty.  I  had  decided  to  economize  against 
old  age,  and  there  was  a  kinsman  who  had  promised  to  make 
me  rich  on  his  return  from  St.  Petersburg,  where  he  had  gone 
to  receive  a  legacy  ;  but,  when  he  returned,  it  was  no  longer 
so  :  I  was  faded,  although  but  twenty-nine.  The  brunettes 
hold  good  to  thirty  and  upward.  Ah  !  why  was  not  I  born  a 
brunette  !"  The  old  woman  would  have  gone  on  intermina 
bly  in  regretting  her  beauty  and  not  her  follies,  had  not  Pale 
mon  interrupted  her. 

"  So  you  recall  my  name,  and  I  remember  you  as  well  as 
if  I  had  seen  you  only  yesterday.  We  were  not  much  ac 
quainted  either.  It  was  more  through  one  of  my  friends,  who 
knew  you  well,  and  whom  you  can  not  have  forgotten- — Rob 
ert,  called  the  Devil." 

"  Robert  the  Devil — that  is  a  play." 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  also  a  handsome  young  man  who  adored 
you,  and  you  no  less  him." 

"It  is  quite  possible.  I  have  a  confused  idea;  but  there 
were  so  many,  that,  to  remember  them  all,  one  must  have  the 
memory  of  an  angel." 

"  Robert  gave  you  his  portrait." 

"  Ah !  I  have  had  so  many  portraits  ;  but  now  there  is  not 
one  left.  When  one  finds  herself  in  distress,  as  you  can  con- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          261 

ceive,  they  go  very  quickly  to  the  pawnbroker's.  Mine  went, 
with  rny  jewels  and  dresses,  one  after  another.  But  you 
make  me  talk,  and  during  this  time  there  goes  off  a  gentleman 
who  has  not  paid  me  for  his  chair." 

She  hobbled  in  pursuit  of  the  delinquent,  while  M.  Pale'- 
mon  got  up,  exclaiming, 

"  Let  us  go  ;  the  commencement  of  my  researches  is  not 
very  auspicious.  Look  !  already  one  name  erased  from  my  list, 
and  ten  thousand  francs  to  divide  among  the  other  legatees 
of  Robert." 

An  hour  after  this  rencounter,  M.  Palemon,  on  going  home, 
found  a  letter  which  contained  the  following  invitation : 

"  Madame  the  Baroness  of  Firbach  requests  M.Oscar  Pale 
mon  to  do  her  the  honor  to  visit  her  on  the  evening  of  the  30th 
of  April." 

"  Who  is  this  baroness  ?  Where  did  she  know  me  ?  On 
what  account  am  I  invited  ?  Why  is  it  that  she  sends  me  an 
invitation  only  this  morning  for  this  evening?  Generally  they 
are  sent  several  days  in  advance.  A  baroness  should  know 
the  usages  of  society  better.  But  never  mind ;  I  have  come 
to  Paris  to  fulfill  a  duty,  and  perhaps  at  the  baroness's  I  shall 
meet  some  elegant  of  my  date  who  can  put  me  upon  the  track 
of  those  I  seek." 

M.  Palemon,  at  nine  o'clock,  complied  with  the  invitation. 
The  house  looked  mean  ;  the  staircase  was  badly  lighted  ;  the 
apartment,  although  large,  was  smoky  and  in  disorder.  The 
furniture  dated  from  the  Empire  ;  the  curtains  were  spoiled, 
and  the  gilding  had  lost  its  brilliancy.  In  an  antechamber,  a 
servant  in  blue  livery,  stained  with  oil,  opened  the  door  of  the 
saloon,  and  announced,  in  a  cracked  voice,  M.  Palemon. 

Four  groups  were  seated  around  four  gambling-tables.  A 
lady  of  not  less  than  middle  age,  tall,  and  with  an  imposing 
air,  approached  M.  Palemon,  and  thanked  him  for  having  ac- 


262          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

cepted  her  invitation.  »She  then  took  him  by  the  arm,  con 
ducted  him  to  a  recess  near  a  window,  made  him  take  a  seat, 
and  said  to  him,  with  the  kindest  manner  imaginable, 

"  I  receive  only  gentlemen  of  fashion  and  pretty  women.  I 
thought  that  my  saloon  would  be  agreeable  to  you,  if,  as  I  sup 
pose,  you  have  preserved  your  old  tastes  and  habits." 

"  How  is  this,  Madame  ?"  replied  Palemon,  astonished  ;  "  have 
I,  then,  had  the  honor  formerly  of  your  acquaintance  ?" 

"  Certainly  ;  and  I  am  charmed  to  find  your  name  upon  the 
list  of  the  new  arrivals  at  Paris." 

"  Indeed  !     I  did  not  know  that  such  a  list  was  published." 

"  They  do  not  publish  it ;  I  obtained  it  privately." 

"  And  you,  then,  had  the  goodness  to  recollect  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  surely.  You  have  one  of  those  names  that  one  does 
not  soon  forget,  and  which  necessarily  strike  one,  when  again 
heard." 

"  Very  flattering  this,  Madame  the  Baroness,"  replied  M. 
Palemon,  who  thought  himself  obliged  to  rise  and  salute  her 
for  this  compliment ;  "but,"  added  he,  "  I  ought  to  confess  that 
my  memory  is  less  happy,  and  I  am  the  more  confused  as  well 
as  surprised,  for,  without  speaking  of  the  graces  of  your  per 
son,  you  have  also  one  of  those  names  which  command  the 
memory." 

"  It  is,  perhaps,  because  I  have  not  always  borne  this  name," 
said  the  baroness,  laughing.  "  Do  you  not  remember  Olympe 
Dujardin?" 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  M.  Palemon,  "  a  lucky  day!  Your  name 
is  written  upon  my  tablets,  Madame,  and  you  are  one  of  the 
persons  that  I  desire  the  most  to  see  in  visiting  Paris.  I  am 
enchanted  to  find  you  in  a  brilliant  and  aristocratic  position. 
A  marriage,  without  doubt  ?  You  well  merit  that !  But  how 
is  it  that  I  did  not  recognize  you  at  once  ?  You  are  not  changed 
in  the  least." 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          263 


"  You  find,  then — "  replied  the  baroness,  affectedly  ;  "  yes, 
they  do  say  I  am  still  passable.  It  is  not  every  woman  that 
can  say  that  at  my  age.  Hold  !  you  remember  the  little  An- 
tonia,  who  had  formerly  some  reputation  in  the  world,  and 
who  knew  so  well  how  to  ruin  the  English?" 

<k  Antonia  !  why  she  is  on  my  list." 

"  There  she  is  ;  that  enormous  lady  in  a  blue  hat,  seated 
near  the  chimney.  Now  she  is  called  Madame  Outremer. 
The  young  person  at  her  side  is  her  niece.  I  will  present 
you." 

Madame  Outremer  gave  M.  Palemon  a  warm  reception.  "  I 
love  my  old  friends,"  said  she  ;  "  my  niece  does  also.  She  is 
pretty,  and  well  brought  up,  and  delights  in  the  society  of  ma 
ture  men.  We  are  delighted  to  receive  you." 

M.  Palemon  led  the  conversation  toward  Robert.  At  first 
neither  the  baroness  nor  Madame  Outremer  recollected  him  ; 
but,  by  force  of  associations,  the  memory  of  the  two  ladies 
gradually  awakened.  Neither,  however,  had  preserved  the 
precious  portrait. 

Just  then  the  door  of  the  saloon  was  opened.  An  agent  of 
the  police,  followed  by  his  guards,  entered,  and  placed  senti 
nels  so  as  to  prevent  the  escape  of  any  one.  The  cards  were 
seized  in  the  name  of  the  law,  and  each  of  the  players  were 
obliged  to  give  their  names  to  await  a  civil  process.  This 
scene  did  not  pass  without  lively  expostulations.  The  baroness 
was  furious. 

"  I  know  from  whom  has  come  this  blow,"  said  she  to  M. 
Palemon,  who  was  thunderstruck  at  the  denouement :  "  I 
have  been  denounced  by  a  woman  who  was  my  rival  for 
merly,  and  is  now  my  enemy,  and  who  has  come  to  live  in 
this  house,  to  be  the  better  able  to  spy  me.  Tlicy  have  rightly 
told  me  that  she  was  in  the  pay  of  the  police,  and  I  was  weak 
not  to  believe  thorn.  Oh  !  I  will  unmask  her  now,  and  all  the 


2G4          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


world  shall  know  that  Arthemise  Muller  is  a  spy — a  vile  in 
former." 

"  Arthemise  Muller !  Still  another  one  of  those  that  I  seek," 
said  M.  Palemon. 

The  proces-verbal  being  finished,  the  guests  of  the  baroness 
had  permission  to  retire,  with  the  prospect  of  appearing  as 
witnesses  in  a  trial  before  the  police  court. 

Moved  by  a  scene  which  had  finished  a  day  so  full  of  meet 
ings,  M.  Pale'mon  went  home  with  a  headache.  To  distract 
his  mind,  he  sent  to  a  library  for  a  new  novel. 

It  was  a  dirty  octavo,  which  had  been  thumbed  by  thou 
sands  of  fingers  ;  one  of  those  books  that  the  women  of  the 
world,  delicate  and  distinguished,  admit  to  their  firesides  aft 
er  they  have  passed  through  the  garret,  antechamber,  porter's 
lodge,  barracks,  and  divers  other  localities  equally  unfashion 
able  ;  for,  at  Paris,  no  one  buys  books — they  hire  them.  All 
classes  of  society  are  inscribed  upon  the  registers  of  circulating 
libraries.  The  same  volume  goes  from  the  grisette  to  the 
countess,  from  the  valet  to  the  dandy,  and  so  on.  M.  Pale 
mon  opened  the  book  and  commenced  reading,  but  the  first 
pages  were  so  stupid  that  they  set  him  to  gaping.  He  was 
about  to  close  the  volume,  when,  by  chance,  he  saw  his  own 
name  heading  a  chapter  thus  :  "  AYhere  the  reader  will  make 
acquaintance  with  a  new  personage,  M.  Oscar  Palemon." 

"\\  as  it  by  chance  that  the  author  had  used  these  two  names  ? 
Let  us  see.  Is  ot  at  all ;  it  is  a  true  portrait.  The  Palemon  of 
the  romance  is  one  who  led  a  rakish  life  at  Paris  twenty  years 
since,  and,  that  there  should  be  no  doubt  as  to  his  identity,  the 
author  has  complacently  described  his  figure,  habits,  and  char 
acter,  and  has  placed  him  in  an  historical  intrigue,  of  which 
the  mysterious  details  have  not  yet  been  noised  abroad.  "Who, 
then,  could  be  the  romancer  who  knew  M.  Palemon  so  well, 
and  his  most  private  adventures  ?  The  author  was  a  woman, 
and  her  name  was  Madame 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          265 

M.  Palemon  consulted  his  excellent  memory,  but  it  was  in 
vain  that  he  ran  over  every  name  of  his  past  or  present  ac 
quaintance.  He  could  find  no  clew  in  his  own  reminiscences. 

"It  is  necessary  that  I  trace  this  mystery  out,"  said  he  to 
himself,  "  and  perhaps  to  make  a  complaint  to  the  procureur 
of  the  Emperor,  for  it  can  not  be  permitted  surely  to  print, 
without  permission,  the  life  of  an  honest  man,  and  to  make  him 
the  hero  of  a  romance." 

Saying  this,  M.  Palemon  grasped  his  hat,  threw  on  his  cloak, 
called  a  coach,  and  drove  in  great  haste  to  the  publisher  of  the 
novel,  who  gave  him,  without  hesitation,  the  address  of  the  au 
thor. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  after,  he  was  mounting  the  narrow  and 
dirty  staircase  which  led  to  the  sixth  story  of  a  house  in  the 
.Faubourg  St.  Denis.  He  rang  three  times,  and  waited  some 
ten  minutes  before  the  door  of  the  apartment  was  opened. 
He  then  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  a  woman  of  fifty 
years  of  age,  fat  and  short,  of  a  smoky  tint,  enveloped  in  an  old 
merino  dressing-gown,  and  her  disordered  hair  crowned  with 
a  turban  of  red-checked  silk,  somewhat  after  the  fashion  of 
an  African  washerwoman. 

"  Madame  Bougival,  if  you  please  ?" 

"  At  your  service,  sir." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  woman  of  letters.  Her  right 
hand,  which  held  the  door  half  closed,  was  deeply  marked 
with  ink,  while  to  answer  her  visitor  she  had  been  obliged  to 
take  a  pen  from  her  mouth,  which  she  placed  behind  her  ear. 

"  Enter,  sir,"  said  Madame  Bougival,  "  and  excuse  me  if  I 
make  you  wait ;  but  I  have  just  commenced  a  sentence,  and 
I  wish  to  finish  it  before  I  lose  the  idea.  Not  that  way,  sir  ; 
that's  the  kitchen  :  this  door,  I  beg  of  you  ;  enter  my  study." 

This  study  served  at  the  same  time  for  a  saloon,  dining- 
room,  and  bed-chamber.  The  bed  was  half  hid  behind  a  torn 

M 


266          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

curtain.  The  principal  article  of  furniture  was  an  immense 
table,  covered  with  all  sorts  of  articles  pell-mell,  such  as 
books,  paper,  corsets,  ink-stand,  a  bottle  of  wine,  a  comb, 
glasses,  pens,  petticoats,  plates,  and  a  chaos  of  manuscript  and 
notes 

"  I  beg  you  to  be  seated,  sir,"  said  the  woman  of  letters,  at 
the  same  moment  giving  the  example  by  plunging  herself  into 
a  vast  arm-chair  before  her  desk. 

M.  Palemon  desired  nothing  better  than  to  gain  a  little 
time,  but  the  three  chairs  which  constituted  the  stock  of  sit 
ting-furniture  were  already  occupied ;  the  first  by  a  cat,  the 
second  by  the  fragments  of  a  salad,  and  the  third  by  a  pair  of 
stockings  and  a  hair-brush. 

Madame  Bougival  observed  his  embarrassment,  and  said  to 
the  cat,  "  Get  down,  Silvio  ;  make  room  for  the  gentleman." 

Silvio  rose  slowly  up,  lazily  stretched  herself,  and  then 
jumped  from  the  chair  on  to  the  table,  walked  and  purred  a 
while  amid  the  general  chaos,  and  finally  made  a  bed  of  her 
mistress's  corsets. 

"  Now  that  you  are  seated,  sir,1'  continued  the  blue-stock 
ing,  "  will  you  inform  me  what  has  procured  me  the  honor  of 
this  interview?" 

"  Madame,  I  am  here  on  account  of  a  romance." 

"  Monsieur  is  a  publisher  ?" 

"No,  Madame." 

"  An  editor,  perhaps  ?" 

"  No  more      This  is  the  fact :   I  have  read  your  romance." 

"  Which  ?* 

44  That  which  is  called  «  Nights  and  Festivities.'" 

"  It  is  one  of  my  best." 

"  In  this  romance  there  is  a  character — n 

'*  There  are  thirty-two,  sir,  and  all  well  drawn,  as  I  dare  to 
say.  The  characters  are  a  little  spread  out,  and  the  events  in 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          267 

the  lives  of  each  given  with  particular  detail — all  true,  sir,  too. 
Some  of  the  catastrophes  would  make  you  shed  every  tear  in 
your  body,  if  you  have  two  ounces  of  sensibility." 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  render  homage  to  the  merits  of  your  work  ; 
but  the  character  of  whom  I  wish  particularly  to  speak  to  you 
is  called  Oscar  Palemon." 

"  Ah !  what  a  laughable  chap — droll  as  Punch — an  amiable 
vagabond.  Do  you  use  this,  sir?"  added  the  lady,  pushing  to 
ward  her  visitor  a  large  snuff-box  of  black  horn,  from  which 
she  had  just  taken  a  copious  pinch  of  tobacco. 

"  Willingly,  Madame,  I  thank  you.  But  let  us  return,  if  you 
please,  to  this  Oscar  Palemon." 

"  The  character  strikes  you — is  it  not  so  ?  There  is  great 
truth  in  it.  I  drew  it  after  nature.  That  man  lived,  and  I 
knew  him." 

"  I  believe  it.     He  still  lives." 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?" 

"  Very  well  indeed — it  is  myself." 

"  Indeed  !  Is  that  true  ?  Are  you  the  little  Oscar  ?  Miner 
va  !  it  can't  be.  "What  a  pity  !  What  a  scamp  is  this  Time,  to 
so  derange  us !  But,  on  looking  more  closely,  I  recognize 
something  of  you ;  and  in  me  do  you  see  nothing  familiar  ? 
When  I  knew  you  they  called  me  Athenais  Babichard." 

"What!  Athenais,  the  queen  of  our  balls  and  of  our  sup 
pers,  the  never-tiring,  graceful  dancer,  the  joyous  carouser, 
who  could  swallow  so  lightly  three  bottles  of  Champagne  at  a 
sitting  ?" 

'*  She  is  before  your  eyes.  But  those  festive  nights  are  pass 
ed.  Now  I  have  adopted  temperance  and  incognito.  I  am 
Madame  Bougival,  a  writer  of  romances,  of  manners,  and  of 
books  of  education  for  young  children." 

M.  Palemon  did  not  again  allude  to  the  suppers.  Athenais 
Babichard  a  woman  of  letters !  It  was  indeed  droll,  but  not 


268          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

altogethef  new.  We  have  had  several  of  the  same  species 
before. 

"But,"  objected  M.  Palemon,  "since  you  have  deigned  to 
preserve  for  me  a  place  in  your  memoir,  you  have  still  more 
reason  to  preserve  the  memory  of  Robert  and  his  likeness." 

"  Robert,"  replied  the  literary  female  ;  "  where  do  you  find 
this  Robert  ?" 

Here,  as  every  where  else,  the  souvenir  was  effaced,  and  the 
portrait  lost. 

A  few  days  after,  M.  Palemon  had  another  rencounter.  He 
went  to  the  theatre.  In  retiring,  he  talked  with  the  woman 
who  waited  upon  the  boxes  and  gave  him  his  coat.  "What 
was  his  surprise  when  he  recognized  in  this  poor  decrepit  be 
ing  an  actress  once  celebrated  for  her  beauty  and  her  wit ! 

It  was  Susannah,  the  old  actress  of  the  Varietes — Susannah, 
who  had  always  worn  such  rich  dresses,  and  who  excelled  in 
comedy — Susannah,  the  idol  of  the  side  scenes  and  the  pas 
sion  of  the  orchestra.  No  other  actress  had  contributed  more 
than  she  to  the  fortune  of  the  theatre.  Her  salary  had  been 
a  thousand  crowns,  which  she  did  not  receive,  but,  on  the  con 
trary,  she  willingly  paid  for  the  privilege  to  show  herself  upon 
the  stage.  Each  month  her  fines  for  non-attendance  were  not 
less  than  five  or  six  hundred  francs,  which  those  who  had 
caused  her  to  miss  the  rehearsal  or  play  gladly  paid.  But 
Susannah  faded,  and  she  passed  from  among  the  actresses  to 
the  figurantes,  and  finally  was  but  too  happy  to  be  allowed  to 
remain  about  the  theatre  in  the  humble  situation  in  which 
Palemon  had  found  her. 

Susannah  neither  remembered  Robert  nor  his  portrait.  The 
memory  of  Arthemise  Muller,  the  police  spy,  was  equally  frail. 
Thus  six  names  were  successively  erased  from  his  list. 

It  occurred  to  M.  Palemon  that  the  most  beautiful,  most  op 
ulent,  and  most  loved  of  the  widows  of  Robert  was  Mademoi- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES          209 

selle  Colombe,  who,  in  her  days  of  splendor,  lived  in  a  mag 
nificent  apartment  in  the  Rue  de  Provence.  He  hastened 
there  and  inquired, 

"  Have  you  here  a  young  person  called  Mademoiselle  Co 
lombe  ?  When  I  say  young,  I  mean — no,  it  was  twenty-five 
years  since.  I  forget:  excuse  rne.  She  occupied  the  en 
tresol." 

"  In  the  entresol,"  replied  the  porter,  "  we  have  M.Roland, 
the  oldest  lodger  in  the  house.  He  has  lived  there  for  twen 
ty  years." 

"  Perhaps  this  gentleman  can  give  me  some  information." 

M.  Palemon  hurried  up  the  staircase,  knocked,  and  found  M. 
Roland  at  home.  When  he  had  explained  the  object  of  his 
visit,  he  replied, 

"  Ah  !  sir,  you  recall  a  very  agreeable  souvenir.  Yes,  truly, 
I  replaced  in  this  apartment  a  very  amiable  person,  who  spoke 
often  of  her.  She  had  become  poor — that  is  to  say,  her  rev 
enues  had  fallen  off,  and  she  was  obliged  to  sell  her  furniture 
and  give  up  this  apartment.  She  resigned  herself  to  her  losses 
with  so  much  grace  that  I  was  touched.  I  went  to  see  her 
several  times  in  her  new  lodgings — quite  humble,  I  can  assure 
you — in  the  Rue  Montmartre  ;  but  it  is  many  years  since  I 
have  seen  her.  You  say  that  she  is  to  receive  a  legacy.  I 
heartily  hope  you  will  find  her,  as  she  must  be  greatly  in  need." 

M.  Palemon  took  the  number  of  her  lodgings  from  M.  Ro 
land,  and  hastened  to  the  Rue  Montmartre.  There  he  found, 
not  the  woman  he  sought,  but  a  reminiscence  of  her  in  the 
memory  of  the  venerable  porter. 

"  She  was  a  good  girl,  sir ;  always  laughing,  although  it 
was  not  always  that  she  had  cause ;  liberal  in  her  gifts, 
though  her  purse  was  often  empty.  She  stopped  here  just 
five  years  ;  then  she  left  because  the  proprietor  seized  her 
furniture  for  the  six  months'  rent  due  him." 


270          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 


\Vith  some  farther  instructions,  M.  Palemon  pursued  his 
search.  He  traced  her  to  a  wretched  habitation  in  one  of  the 
vilest  parts  of  the  city,  where  she  had  remained  three  years. 
Thence  his  clew  led  him  to  a  filthy  garret  in  a  still  worse 
house,  near  to  the  corn-market.  At  the  end  of  a  foul  and  ob 
scure  entry  there  was  a  dilapidated  door,  to  be  seen  only  by 
the  light  of  heaven  through  a  hole  in  the  roof.  Upon  this 
door  was  written, 

"  Madame  Pigoche,  magician." 

M.  Palemon  knocked.  The  door,  half  closed,  opened  to  the 
slight  force  he  used,  and  he  found  himself  in  the  presence  of 
an  old  crone,  buried,  rather  than  clothed,  in  the  fragments  of 
theatrical  garments,  to  which  age  had  lent  an  overpowering 
odor. 

Never  had  the  art  of  Mademoiselle  Lenormand  been  exer 
cised  in  a  lodging  so  miserable  and  by  so  ragged  a  sorceress. 

"  Does  Monsieur  wish  that  I  shall  tell  his  fortune  ?'?  asked 
the  old  woman,  with  a  grave  air. 

"  No,  Madame,!  have  not  come  to  consult  your  cards." 

"  What,  then,  do  you  wish  ?" 

"  It  is  in  regard  to  a  Mademoiselle  Colombe  whom  I  am 
very  desirous  to  find." 

"Colombe!"  exclaimed  the  sybil,  with  emotion;  "you  ask 
for  poor  Colombe  ?" 

"  Yes,  Madame  ;  does  she  not  lodge  here  ?" 

"  She  sleeps  in  the  cemetery,  sir." 

"Dead?" 

"  A  long  time  ago.  She  died  here,  on  this  spot  where  you 
arc.  It  astonishes  you,  does  it  not,  that  a  woman,  after  hav 
ing  been  so  brilliant,  so  rich,  so  petted,  should  end  her  days  in 
such  a  hole  ?  Yes,  it  is  your  thought ;  I  see  it  in  your  eyes. 
You  can  hide  nothing  from  me.  I  read  the  past  as  well  as  the 
future.  You  knew  Colombe  when  she  was  young  and  beau- 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          271 

tiful.  She  then  inhabited  an  apartment  furnished  like  the 
palace  of  a  queen.  She  owned  diamonds,  horses,  and  car 
riages.  She  threw  away  money  by  handfuls.  You  knew  all 
that,  and  you  can  not  understand  how  she  could  come  here  to 
die.  It  is,  nevertheless,  the  history  of  more  than  one.  And 
I,  also,  such  as  you  now  see  me,  I  have  lived  in  the  same  way  ; 
I  have  been  as  young,  pretty,  rich,  and  brilliant  as  Colombe." 

"  You  are  her  sister,  perhaps  ?" 

"No,  sir,  I  was  only  her  friend  —  her  best  friend.  Ah!" 
she  said,  drawing  a  deep  sigh,  more  in  regret  at  the  pleasures 
passed  than  in  penitence,  "  how  many  follies  have  we  enjoyed 
together !  It  was  the  good  time  then.  We  were  but  twenty 
years  old,  as  says  the  song.  But,  unfortunately,  this  could  not 
last  always.  Troubles  came,  and  then  age ;  every  thing 
changes  with  us  poor  women,  who  live  only  on  what  Nature 
has  lent  us.  The  commencement  is  always  sweet,  but  the  end 
bitter.  At  first,  lovers  follow  us  ;  later,  they  wait  for  us  ;  and 
then  we  must  go  and  seek  them.  Such  was  the  history  of  this 
poor  Colombe.  When  she  was  wholly  abandoned,  and  mis 
ery  overwhelmed  her,  she  became  crazed,  and  put  an  end  to 
herself." 

"  A  suicide  !"  cried  M.  Palemon,  struck  with  horror. 

"  Yes,  sir,  with  four  sous'  worth  of  charcoal — her  last  four 
sous,  three  of  which  she  borrowed  of  me,  without  telling  me 
what  she  wished  to  do — the  poor  creature  !  It  was  necessary 
to  break  down  the  door  in  the  presence  of  a  police  agent. 
They  found  her  there  stiff — dead.  I  can  still  see  her.  In  or 
der  to  burn  the  charcoal,  she  made  use  of  this  furnace,  which 
I  have  preserved,  and  upon  which  I  make  my  coffee  every 
morning  in  memory  of  her/' 

"  Poor  Colombe  !  No  one,  then,  took  pity  upon  thy  dis 
tress?" 

"  And  whom  would  you  have  succor  her  ?     Her  old  lovers, 


272         PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

perhaps  ?  Indeed  !  Men,  you  see,  are  all — but  you  are  one, 
and  I  stop.  Men,  while  they  are  in  love,  are  stupid  dwarfs, 
who  have  nothing  in  them  ;  geese,  that  one  can  pluck  at  will. 
But  when  the  fit  is  passed,  they  are  callous,  with  hearts  like 
stone.  They  forget  all  that  has  been  done  for  them,  and  leave 
us  to  die  of  hunger  without  bestowing  upon  us  the  charity  of 
a  sous.  Colombo  more  than  once  spoke  to  her  old  friends 
who  swam  in  opulence.  All  refused  the  smallest  pittance. 
I  was  so  poor  myself  that  I  could  not  aid  her." 

"  And  her  sister,  that  I  saw  so  beautiful  and  triumphant, 
what  has  become  of  her?" 

"  Flora  ?  Do  not  speak  of  her  ;  she  has  been  still  more  mis 
erable,  When  time  stole  her  charms,  she  took  up  trading  in 
articles  of  toilette.  Her  business  was  with  women  of  fashion, 
who,  like  ourselves,  had  led  a  life  of  gallantry,  but,  unlike  our 
selves,  had  possessed  hypocrisy  enough  to  preserve  their  rep 
utation.  The  male  world  docs  not  bid  them  adieu  because 
they  are  rich,  and  thus  they  contrive  to  divide  their  hours  be 
tween  intrigues,  lace,  finery,  and  all  else  that  goes  to  repair 
the  ravages  of  time  on  flesh.  But  this  business  is  not  all 
profit  or  pleasure.  Such  patrons  give  more  promises  than 
money.  Victimized  by  numerous  failures,  Flora,  to  save  her 
self,  was  tempted  to  dishonesty.  A  Cashmere  shawl  had 
been  intrusted  to  her  for  sale.  She  sold  it,  and  kept  the 
money.  The  police  condemned  her  to  six  years'  imprison 
ment.  After  this  there  was  no  more  business  for  her.  On 
leaving  prison,  Flora,  without  resources,  lost,  faded,  fell  lower 
than  ever.  She  lived  a  vagabond  life,  and  finished  by  associat 
ing  with  a  criminal  by  profession.  Caught  in  robbery,  she 
was  again  brought  before  the  court,  and  condemned  to  seven 
years'  hard  labor,  and  to  be  exposed  on  a  scaffold.  Yes,  I  have 
seen  my  unhappy  friend  tied  to  a  gallows — she  whom  I  have 
so  often  seen  so  brilliant  in  her  carriage  and  her  box  at  the 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.         273 

Opera,  attended  by  those  fine  gentlemen  who  to-day  are  peers 
of  France.  Heaven  had  pity  on  her  at  the  end  of  a  year,  and 
sent  her  a  disease  which  soon  took  her  off." 

"  All  this  is  very  sad,"  said  M.  Palemon,  who  had  many  rea 
sons  for  feeling  melancholy  as  he  recalled  his  career  and  those 
of  these  unhappy  girls,  "  But  you,  Madame,  who  were  the 
friend  of  these  sisters,  what  is  your  name  ?" 

"  Now,  as  you  read  upon  my  door,  I  am  called  Madame 
Pigoche,  the  name  of  the  only  man  that  I  ever  loved.  For 
merly  I  was  called  Rosine  de  Lelicour ;  that  was  more  poet 
ical—" 

"  Rosine  Lelicour !  You  are  on  my  list,"  said  M.  Palemon, 
opening  his  pocket-book. 

"  It  is  possible,"  tranquilly  replied  the  sybil. 

"  Do  you  remember  me  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  do  not ;  but  that  is  no  offense.  You  have  not 
recognized  me  ;  and  if  I  am  changed,  on  your  side  you  have 
not,  I  judge,  the  pretension  to  be  the  same  as  you  were  in 
your  spring-time." 

"  It  does  not  concern  me,  but  a  friend  called  Robert." 

"  I  do  not  remember  that  name  either,  which  is  not  aston 
ishing,  so  many  names  have  passed  through  my  head.  Ah 
me !  Yes,  and  so  many  bank-notes  have  passed  through  my 
hands,  and  now  not  one  remains,  alas !  If  one  could  keep 
what  they  gained,  Colombe  and  Flora  would  have  lived,  and 
we  should  have  been  fine  ladies  to-day,  as  we  were  all  three 
great  sinners  in  our  youth.  If  you  knew  us,  you  will  recollect, 
perhaps,  that  we  were  always  together,  and  they  called  us  the 
three  graces.  You  see,  now,  what  is  left." 

"  There  is  something  which  can  aid  you  to  recall  Robert." 

"  What  is  it  ?     Tell  me,  if  you  please." 

"  His  portrait,  which  he  gave  you." 

"  He  gave  me,  then,  his  portrait,  the  poor,  dear  man  ?  Very 

M2 


274         PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

well ;  I  have  not  kept  it,  nor  any  thing  else.  All  went,  in 
turn,  to  the  pawnbroker's.  Now  I  have  no  faces,  except 
those  upon  my  cards,  which  gain  for  me  something  in  my  de 
cay.  Come,  sir,  give  me  something,  and  we  will  know  your 
fortune.  We  have  talked  enough  about  the  past ;  let  us  talk 
some  of  the  future." 

"  No,  Madame,  no  ;  you  have  told  me  all  I  wished  to  know  ; 
but  it  is  just  that  I  should  pay  you  the  same  as  if  you  had  told 
my  fate." 

M.  Palernon  drew  from  his  purse  a  gold  coin,  which  he  put 
into  the  hand  of  the  sybil.  It  was  a  long  while  since  she  had 
seen  so  much,  and  her  face  glistened  with  joy  as  she  made 
her  acknowledgments. 

"  This  proof  shall  be  the  last,"  said  M.  Pale'mon,  as  he  left 
the  fortune-teller.  "  There  still  remains  one  widow,  but  it  is 
useless  to  seek  her." 

The  three  months  had  expired.  He  had  done  all  possible 
to  fulfill  the  wishes  of  Robert.  His  conscience  would  now 
permit  him  to  return  to  Margillac,  and  restore  to  the  nephew 
of  his  friend  the  hundred  thousand  francs  which  had  failed  to 
reach  their  first  destination. 

While  he  was  preparing  to  depart,  a  neighbor  of  Margillac 
wrote  to  him  to  request  that  he  would  take  charge,  on  his  re 
turn,  of  a  roll  of  papers  which  would  be  given  to  him  by  M. 
Rondin,  living  at  the  Batignolles.  M.  Pale'mon  took  an  om 
nibus  and  found  the  house. 

"  Monsieur  is  out,"  said  the  servant,  "  but  you  can  speak  to 
Madame." 

M.  Palemon  caused  himself  to  be  announced,  and  entered 
the  saloon,  where  he  found  the  wife  of  M.  Rondin  and  her 
daughter,  a  charming  girl  of  sixteen.  The  old  bachelor  made 
his  most  graceful  bow  ;  then,  approaching  Madame  Rondiri,  he 
uttered  a  cry  of  surprise  and  emotion. 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.         275 

"What  is  the  matter,  sir?"  asked  the  lady,  astonished  at 
the  effect  she  produced. 

"  Nothing,  Madame,  nothing.  I  will  explain  ;  but  it  would 
be  better  that  we  were  alone,"  said  he,  glancing  at  the  young 
lady. 

"  Leave  us,  Caroline,"  said  Madame  Rondin. 

When  Caroline  had  left,  she  said,  "  Now,  sir,  explain  ;  what 
is  the  cause  of  your  emotion  ?" 

"  What  have  you  there  upon  your  breast  ?" 

"  This  medallion  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  portrait,  which  is  that  of  my  friend  Robert,  is 
it  not — Jules  Edward  Florestan  Robert,  called  the  Devil?" 

It  was,  indeed,  the  portrait  so  long  sought.  M.  Palemon 
had  before  him  the  tenth  of  the  names  upon  his  tablet. 

Madame  Rondin  told  him  how,  after  numerous  adventures, 
she  had  made  an  honorable  end  by  marrying  M.  Rondin. 
"  My  husband  knows  nothing  of  my  former  life,  and  I  count 
upon  your  discretion,"  said  she,  as  she  finished  her  tale. 

An  hour  after  this  scene,  M.  Palemon  dined  with  Mr.,  Mrs., 
and  Miss  Rondin. 

"  This  is  an  old  friend  of  my  brother's,"  said  the  wife,  "  and 
Caroline  is  a  witness  of  the  emotion  with  which  he  recalled 
the  likeness  of  my  poor  Charles,  who  died  so  young." 

"  You  have  plenty  of  others,"  said  the  good  M.  Rondin, 
laughing.  "  My  wife  has  a  mania  for  portraits.  She  possesses 
three  uncles,  four  brothers,  and  five  cousins  in  bracelets, 
brooches,  and  upon  snuff-boxes." 

M.  Palemon  could  not  listen  to  this  conversation.  He  was 
looking  attentively  at  the  face  of  the  young  girl  opposite  him. 
Caroline  was  both  modest  and  pretty.  She  had  just  left  school, 
and  had  been  well  taught.  After  dinner,  she  played  and  sang 
with  good  taste.  Her  voice  was  sweet  and  strong.  The  old 
bachelor  was  in  ecstasies,  and,  when  he  bade  adieu  to  the  fam- 


276          PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES. 

ily  at  eleven  o'clock  that  evening,  he  promised  to  call  again 
the  next  day. 

Notwithstanding  the  impression  upon  his  heart,  he  was  not 
prevented  from  making  sundry  philosophical  reflections  upon 
the  discovery  of  that  day. 

"  Behold,  then,"  said  he,  "  what  has  become  of  the  widows 
of  the  Devil !  I  have  found  one,  by  chance,  who  has  reform 
ed  and  married.  The  others  are  chair-letters,  door-openers  at 
theatres,  spies,  fortune-tellers,  gamblers  or  worse,  writers  of 
infamous  literature,  or  they  have  plunged  into  crime,  and  died 
in  prison  or  by  EuLivlc.  J-iid  for  how  much  of  this  are  we 
men  responsible  ?  ^Without  the  temptation  of  our  money,  might 
not  all  have  lived  and  died  honest  women  ?  I  see  it  all :  they 
are  our  toys,  then  our  victims ;  then  we  despise,  and  seek — 
others.  The  same  routine  of  wickedness,  to  pile  up  remorse 
and  infirmities  for  our  latter  days.  I  will  paint  my  experi 
ence  ;  perhaps  it  may  warn  one  of  either  sex  in  season. 

"  Is  it  not  strange,"  added  he,  "  that  of  all  these  women,  the 
only  one  who  preserved  the  souvenirs  and  the  portraits  of  her 
admirers  is  precisely  she  who  has  redeemed  herself  in  the 
esteem  of  the  world,  and  now  occupies  an  honorable  position, 
with  the  title  of  wife  and  mother  ?" 

M.  Palemon  then  thought  of  Caroline.  The  next  day  he 
returned  to  the  Batignolles.  He  visited  there  daily,  and 
thought  no  more  of  quitting  Paris.  He  had  explained  to  Mad 
ame  Rondin  the  legacy  of  Robert.  "  These  one  hundred  thou 
sand  francs  are  yours  by  right,"  said  he. 

"  Yes  ;  but  how  can  I  take  them  ?  By  what  title  can  I  ac 
cept  them?  What  motive  can  I  give  to  my  husband  ?" 

"There  is  a  way  to  arrange  all,"  replied  Oscar  Palemon. 
"  Give  me  the  hand  of  your  charming  daughter.  I  will  marry 
her  without  a  dowry,  and  bestow  upon  her  the  money  of  Rob 
ert  by  marriage  contract." 


PARISIAN  SIGHTS  AND  FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.          £77 

Madame  Rondin  could  refuse  nothing  to  M.  Palemon.  M. 
Rondin  never  denied  any  favor  to  his  wife.  Besides,  the 
hundred  thousand  francs  were  not  without  some  weight  in  rec 
ommending  M.  Palemon  for  a  son-in-law. 

The  young  girl  was  sacrificed.  Her  sixteen  summers  were 
united  by  law  to  the  sixty  winters  of  M.  Palemon.  The  re 
sult,  doubtless,  was  neither  worse  nor  better  than  other  mar 
riages  of  the  same  sort. 


THE     END. 


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